The Fate of Soldiers
by Giraffe on the Moon
Summary: The war has left its scars - veteran healer Darjah Wilks has never quite shaken the battlefield. Chance and the greed of Aston bring her together with Allen Schezar as Astoria prepares to conquer the chaotic remnants of Zaibach.
1. Strangers in the Rain

Strangers in the Rain

Black hair dripped from his scalp like the strokes of a paint brush on his papyrus skin. He stood in the drizzle, never mind the fine cut of his shirt or the buttery soft leather of his riding boots. Instead he focused heavenward, eyes fixed like a moon sick wolf man on the blue white pearl of the Mystic Moon.

Darjah followed his line of vision, more fascinated by the bone cold sickle of the second moon lost in the Mystic Moon's shadow. It made her think of forlorn smiles and the gleam of a scalpel before an operation. Through the rain and mud her memory offered her that distinct aroma of death, alcohol, and anesthesia. Night was a time that belonged to the dead, to the ones who didn't make it through the operations and the ones who never saw the table.

Her mind came back to her as a shift of wind sent rain to soak her beneath the shop awning. It seeped through the canvas cut of her pauper's breeches and the stiff, old coat that was dated standard issue for soldiers. It had been her brother's before he'd been promoted. Uniforms had changed by now anyway. She pulled the stiff collar up a bit higher, tilted her wide brimmed hat just so, and hugging her purchases leaned against the rain.

Bare feet squishing along the unpaved road of a Palas ghetto, she headed towards the bridge upon which the pondering noble stood. She wondered how his love had been disappointed or who might have died so that his feet would carry him so far from home. He was certainly a pining fool to be out in this miserable drizzle just standing there without a jacket. The war time healer in her rankled the closer to him she got. Throwing away such good health was utter madness. Before she could stop herself she turned smartly onto the stone bridge, climbing up an impractical, aesthetically pleasing arch, and stood defiantly beside him.

"You should consider that this is bad for your health," she intruded on his thoughts. He turned a startled expression to her, slightly disoriented. "A good bottle of brandy will do your unrequited love more good than this frigid rain," she advised. His features were noble though he looked like an injured pup with his eyes still whimsical.

"I can't argue that logic," he smiled suddenly, the same sickle sad grin of her white moon.

"Go home, blue blood. This place isn't safe," she urged, crossing one leg behind her and bobbing a curtsey. His face lifted back towards the sky, watching the moons drifting in and out of the thick clouds. Darjah thought about clocking him a good one, particularly since he stood an open target in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods currently embroiled in turf wars.

"I lost something today," he said when she turned to go, giving him up for dead. Darjah stopped at the cynical edge in his voice. She recognized it as the tone a man used when he was trying to hold onto the last pieces of his sanity. "The pendant she gave me…"

Darjah thought of frightened men clutching little paintings of their women, holding onto hand kerchiefs or hair ribbons, a lucky few with something of a promise ring. These were precious links, idolized pieces of women they could not reach and were terrified they would never see again. She thought of a young soldier, barely fourteen, who went mad when he lost the locket belonging to his sister, the sister who had died right before his eyes and driven him to join the army.

"What did it look like?" she turned around. He looked back at her, seemingly surprised she would take him seriously.

"It was Dragon Heart, set in gold on a small chain," he replied.

"The Hydra is a strange place. One head might swallow something only to be found in the jaws of another," Darjah consoled him. "If I pry it loose where would I take it?"

"Allen Schezar will know where I am," the man smiled to say that he appreciated her consolation. Darjah nodded to him.

"Go back now, while the rain washes out the scum."

"Thank you," he gave her a slightly wider smile and turned away without further hesitation. Sometimes just hearing a man out was the best thing. In this case it was the only thing she could do.


	2. Fortune

Fortune

"Darjah! There's another one over here!" called an apprentice.

"Busy! You'll have to hold onto him!" she barked, the steamy mud reeking of blood, urine, and fear. "Come on boy, don't you give out!" she snapped at the bloody victim before her. Thread gleamed in the unforgiving sunlight, the needle weaving back and forth to seal up a gash on his inner thigh before he bled to death.

"You! Fan out west! And you two, bring me anyone you can find who might know something about this!" the constable was shouting. Darjah didn't have time for her cynicism to reflect on the uselessness of his position. The Hydra was out of control and no one in Palas was safe until a new underground King was found.

"Darjah! I'm losing him!" the apprentice Selenay called with a note of terror. She was too weak for this sort of thing. If it wasn't for the vast number of wounded and dying Darjah would have left Selenay to her salves. "Darjah!"

"Kimna! Take over!" Darjah barked at another apprentice, a lemur boy just finishing. His enormous eyes blinked at her and he bounded over. His nimble little hands instantly found their place and Darjah made quick time to reach this other patient.

"H-help," he begged, his guts split open as he bled all over Selenay. She was sobbing, holding onto him as desperately as he clung to her. That was Selenay's other problem. She refused to recognize death. Darjah had her mercy knife out behind her back without a second thought.

"Easy boy, I've got you," Darjah assured him, reaching forward to pull him into her chest. He quickly shifted his frightened attention to her stronger presence.

"Please…m-make it better," he sobbed, trembling with fright and agony.

"Find another Selenay," Darjah instructed, knowing she couldn't bear to watch. She would only make things worse. Trembling, Selenay stumbled to another body. Darjah hushed the man, hardly more than a boy with piercings running up both ears. "It won't hurt, boy. I promise," she soothed. Her mercy knife slid into his spine just at the base of his skull. He died instantly, the life severed from him painlessly. She felt him go as his body immediately relaxed.

"We've done about all we can, Marse," she informed the gang lieutenant behind her. "A lot of good boys died here today."

"I know," Marse replied, his soft tone not without its touch of melancholy. Darjah carefully laid the corpse in her arms down and went about gathering his guts impersonally.

"How much longer? How many more children?" she asked with an edge of accusation in her voice as she tucked the disemboweled man's innards back inside. She threaded another needle and began stitching him loosely together so all of him could make it to the graveyard.

"I wish I knew," was his sincere reply.

"Leave it, Marse. Leave this madness before it's you," she commanded knotting her quick handy work as the flesh cooled. Marse made no answer. Instead his callused hands slid over her blood slick fingers. He lifted her out of the death churned mud and tried to close her into an embrace. She shook him off and moved towards Selenay who sobbed openly over her work, frightening the grown man whose leg was mostly severed below the knee.

"Please, tell me it can be saved," he pleaded. Darjah took one look and shook her head.

"Tendons severed. Bone shattered. Barely hanging on. It'll only rot if we sew it onto you," she told him bluntly, tightening Selenay's tourniquet. "Go give our tallies to the constable. Twelve dead, fifteen wounded."

"No, you have to save it!" he grabbed her hand in wild desperation.

"It is beyond salvation," Darjah insisted wiping her hands on her apron. She reached into Selenay's tool bag and drew out a thick wad of gauze and pulled out a flask of whiskey from inside her vest. "Throw this back and bite this," she instructed handing him each. He looked about to protest before looking back at his mangled leg.

Within two gulps the man had the whisky empty and was gnawing on the gauze. He put one hand on her shoulder and shut his eyes, sweat standing out on his brow. Darjah in the mean time removed her belt and tightened it around his thigh just above the knee to cut off circulation. She then pulled out her saw and dribbled harder whiskey on his leg. He grunted at the burning while she doused her bone saw and carefully propped his leg at the knee on hers. His grip on her shoulder tightened.

"You three men!" she barked at the local constabulary. The burly young men turned to her. "You'll have to hold him down." Two blanched but the other seemed to be a Hydra veteran. He came forward and immediately pressed down on one leg with his knees and helped her hold the leg to be amputated steady. "I haven't got all day! On the double!" she barked. The other two jumped and took loose arms.

Without warning she took to sawing through the bone just above the splintering. The amputee screamed, convulsing forward. She held fast, applying more pressure and cutting through the last bit. It came loose and he spit out his gauze with a shriek, tumbling backwards. Darjah doused it in more alcohol, pulling out fresh bandages and wrapping the bloody stump. She applied another tourniquet, offering him the cheaper whiskey. He took it without hesitation, panting obscenities until the stretcher came to pick him up.

Surveying the mostly 'cleaned' area Darjah sighed and rubbed the back of her neck forgetting she was covered in blood until she slimed herself. She stopped the habitual movement and cleaned her hands as she stood.

"Miss," a timid stretcher boy approached her, hopping over puddles of gore. He held out one clenched hand. "The amputee asked me to give you this as thanks." She offered her hand and was surprised when a little red stone landed in her palm.

"This must be worth a fortune," she said.

"He just said he wanted you to have it for your help."

"Tell him thank you," she nodded as she lifted the gem. It gleamed red at her, abrasively reflecting the carnage around them. Against the sun she recognized the Dragon Heart and the winking gold chain. Perhaps things like fate did exist.

"We're all done here," Kimna appeared as she strung the pendant around her neck and tucked it below her high collar. Sticky fingers were everywhere in the Hydra. Selenay was sniffling in tow behind him with their bags.

"You two did very well," she said laying a comforting hand on Selenay's shoulder. "Selenay, I want you to finish the salves and both of you tend the shop a few hours. I've got something I need to do."

"Yes ma'am," they both nodded. Kimna took Selenay by the hand and led her away singing her a working song about laundry and sunshine. Marse was nowhere to be found when she looked around, already slunk back to his master. So Darjah did one last sweep of the battleground before turning down another alley towards her brother's house. She would need something more suitable to visit Allen Schezar, one of the Knights of Caelie.


	3. The Other Side of Reality

The Other Side of Reality

"Darjah! What's happened?" her brother demanded, eyebrows coming together as he rushed to meet her. It had taken fifteen minutes to persuade the overprotective butler she could be seen by him.

"Feyhaln," she greeted giving him one of her rare smiles. In his pristine blue coat and blindingly white shirt he was like something from a dream. He embraced her regardless much to the astonishment of his prudish servant.

"You _must_ leave Hydra," Feyhaln said, the strain of his concern evident.

"None of this blood is mine," she assured him.

"You look like a warmed over corpse!" He accused squeezing her tighter. "Please, there are plenty of rooms here! More than my wife and I could ever possibly need no matter how many children I convince her to have. Please, please, come out of that hell."

"I am too much dead to leave the grave yard," Darjah replied, her fingers tightening around his coat. "Out here I am a zombie, in there I have life enough to share."

"You foolhardy idiot," he accused. "You were never supposed to come with us to war."

"I have a favor to ask brother," she changed the subject as he allowed them to pull apart.

"Yes you can move in," he only half teased.

"I need to meet with Allen Schezar."

"The commander?" Feyhaln frowned faintly. "Why? What has happened?"

"I found something that might belong to one of his friends. I'd like to clean up and return it to him myself."

"I don't suppose it will be a problem. May I insist you clean up in something of my wife's or will you only go in one of your own dresses?"

"It's hot out. I want to wear a sun dress," she answered supposing it would be something of a happy medium. Feyhaln looked placated and nodded.

"Have a bath drawn immediately, Edmund," he instructed of his butler.

"But sir…her feet!" the man protested pointing at her filth caked toes. Darjah had forgotten them entirely too accustomed to her usual appearance.

"You will ruin my good name. Feyhaln, the Knight of Caelie who could not even clothe his sister," Feyhaln snorted. He swept her off her feet and carried her inside, up the fine staircase and into the tiled bathroom larger then Darjah's entire house. He set her down on the ground there as another servant appeared carrying a heavy bucket of steamy water.

"I'll send a servant with a dress. At least let me feed you," Feyhaln insisted kissing her forehead. Darjah smiled and began untying her apron. When he was gone she stripped, her eye catching on her reflection.

Feyhaln and Darjah Wilks were uncanny in their physical similarities. Both were tall and lean, each dark skinned from their outdoor lifestyle. They were gray eyed and red headed, an unusual combination and doubly peculiar for their both having such singular features. Feyhaln had a boyish handsomeness, playful while he wore his heart on his sleeve where Darjah's features were as sharp as her scalpel, painfully regal.

She climbed into the tub and instantly felt the muck sliding off her skin. Old scars flecking her knuckles became visible along with the discolored spot on her shoulder where a blacksmith's apprentice had burned her years ago accidentally with a brand. Only half the mark had seared her skin, the flesh stamp never quite clear to her. It looked to her like a knocked bow.

Her fingers strayed to the necklace she still wore, part of her afraid it would vanish if she set it aside. To find something so precious to a stranger and have the chance to return it was a rare twist of fate indeed. She scrubbed with renewed vigor as her cynical humor wondered if the man had been killed last night on his way home. The ugly thought made her smile crooked as she climbed out, toweling dry.

Dressed in a cheerful yellow sun dress that left her arms scandalously bare and the half brand visible, long enough to brush her knees, she descended the stairs as she piled hair atop her head with pins. She could hear Feyhaln laughing with his young wife in the breakfast room.

"At least wear these please," Edmund appeared offering her sandals.

"Thank you Edmund," she said pleasantly, stepping into them. He sighed and bowed her into the room where Feyhaln sat with his daughter's fingers twined into his long hair. She was a dribbling eighteen month old, her feet under her enough to scamper about as she prattled away in half gibberish sentences and one word commands. She bore Feyhaln's gray eyes but took her light complexion and dark hair from her mother.

"Darjah! How wonderful to see you again!" Mink exclaimed, the raven haired beauty who had cast away her family to marry a Knight not of noble birth. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, never mind her child swollen belly, and crossed the room to meet Darjah.

"Mink, how's your first son doing?" Darjah greeted accepting a warm embrace.

"He's quite animated!" Mink laughed, taking Darjah's hand and pressing it to her stomach. They waited a moment forehead to forehead before the child gave them a solid kick, advising them to stop the pressure. "He does nothing but dance all over my bladder every night," Mink giggled.

"If you think he's bad now wait until he has free reign of the house on those little legs," Darjah teased. Mink took her by the hand and led her to the table.

"Dabbah! Dabbah, dabbah!" Quince raised her cupcake fists commanding attention from her wolf faced aunt. Darjah took the baby girl from her brother, feeling the little damp fingers settling onto her bath warm shoulders.

"I hope by the time you're old enough to attract suitors you've mastered the leakage of your aqueducts," Darjah reflected aloud as Quince began slobbering all over her shoulder, chewing on her sun dress.

"I seem to recall you were a slobbering baby," Feyhaln teased, standing to pull back a chair again for his wife. She thanked him as she sat carefully, maneuvering her swollen form to rest gently.

"And look what good it has done me in suitors," Darjah returned collecting a crescent of soft bread to lure Quince's attention.

"I don't think you need to worry about suitors," Mink commented, shifting. "Walking down the street with you I feel quite the old nag. They all look at you with such interest."

"Oh I have no shortage of lovers," Darjah gave her a wicked smile. Mink's cheeks blushed red. "It's suitors that are difficult to find. Not a one I would take would please Feyhaln's idea of a brother-in-law."

"Lies, lies," Feyhaln insisted. "You've never brought a single one forward." He pulled a second chair back for Darjah as the medic held onto Quince's current chew thing, watching the bread get soggy and clump on her little fingers.

"What about…" Mink's winged eyebrows came together as she struggled to recall something. "You used to talk a lot about a man named Marse," she looked to the Wilks siblings. Feyhaln looked down at the floor with a hard expression while Darjah's smile went mean.

"Marse is a fool. He was born a fool and he will die a fool."

"I thought you were fond of him," Mink frowned.

"I knew a girl who loved him and I watched him drag them both into a grave," Darjah replied, picking a piece of slimed bread from Quince's cheek. "Needless to say Marse is neither suitor nor lover."

"I'm sorry Darjah, I didn't know…" Mink looked down at her plate.

"Nonsense," Darjah dismissed it. "There was no way you could know and now I have cleared the confusion. I believe you are due in early winter this year aren't you? Feyhaln will you make sure my room is prepared?" she looked at her brother. He snapped out of his distraction and nodded.

"Oh, yes," he confirmed. "There's no better midwife in all of Palas so we'll have to give her the royal treatment."

"I want the Friedian cotton sheets this time," Darjah commanded as she bounced Quince on her knee, secretly delighting in the thrilled gurgles.

"You pick the strangest things over which to be particular," Feyhaln smiled, serving his wife some fried eggs and buttering her toast.

"Oh! Fey said you were going with him to see the Knights! You know that Allen Schezar is very handsome and quite dashing. I bet he would be a fine lover if you didn't want him as a suitor," Mink exclaimed suddenly. Darjah smiled wondering what little Quince would have to endure once she was marriageable.

"Allen Schezar is held hostage by our good Princess Millerna," Darjah cautioned her. "It would be no small thing to make an enemy of her."

"Darjah it would be much more terrifying to find myself your enemy than a silly princess who disregards her duties to chase after a man," Mink clucked her tongue.

"I forget you are not on pleasant terms with the young heiress."

"Not at all. She is so condescending," Mink puffed out her cheeks. "All she does is look down her nose at me for my marriage. And after all the times I covered for her in finishing school. You know I wish you would make Allen your lover!"

"Mink vengeance is rather unbecoming on you," Feyhaln cautioned, although he was more bemused than upset.

"Well so long as I have your blessing I'll certainly take a careful appraisal of him then," Darjah agreed with a shrug.

"You two are incorrigible," Feyhaln shook his head. Quince grabbed the pendant hanging in the hollow of Darjah's throat. The sudden disconnect sent a jolt through her.

"No Quince," Darjah chided gently taking the gemstone back. She thought of the forlorn noble standing on a poetic bridge and genuinely hoped she could track him down again. She didn't even have a name to go by. If Allen couldn't help her she would hold onto it. "Here, you can gum this instead," she gave the girl a bit of muffin. Quince was suitably distracted.

"What did you want to see Allen for?" Feyhaln queried.

"Apart from my orders to seduce him for a season there's someone I'm looking for. Will this dress do?"

"For the seduction or court approval?"

"It seems one criterion is fulfilled either way," Darjah replied. Feyhaln shrugged with an indulgent smile.

"Will you stay for dinner please?" Mink asked.

"I have to get back to the clinic. The Hydra has an unhealthy number of heads these days and my apprentices will drown in blood if I'm not there with a tourniquet," Darjah shook her head. She stood up again and handed Mink her baby.

"Dabbah! Dabbah no!" Quince commanded, jowls aquiver.

"I'll be back soon, little Cream Puff. Don't fret and chew on mamma's fingers so you're teeth will come in strong and healthy."

"Heavens, please no," Mink giggled as Darjah dropped a kiss on her forehead too.

"I've heard it's good for your cuticles," Darjah teased.

"Don't abuse your authority," Feyhaln admonished as he finished his own breakfast. "I'll be home early today, Mink. Behave."

"Oh you know me," Mink shrugged.


	4. A Lady of the Battlefield

A Lady of the Battlefield

Allen was still getting accustomed to Feyhaln Wilks and his peculiar grace. The boy was a swordsmanship prodigy managing to become the youngest knight presently in the order, though not the youngest to ever join. Allen still had him beat there.

Overall he liked Feyhaln. The boy had an honor streak as deep and wide as the sea, dedicated to the core to the Knights of Caelie. He was powerfully charismatic and carried a great deal of support from the lower echelons of society, which came in vastly useful. His noble wife was another scoring point, a gentle beauty with the finesse of the upper class and a willingness to mingle with the commoners that made her an instant idol. They were the perfect couple, enviably so even by Allen's standards.

However the red headed, dark skinned knight walked beside a woman striking similar to him. Allen assumed they must be kin to share such peculiar similarities. She even rivaled Feyhaln for his height.

The young Knight was helping his mirror image down from a carriage and over a puddle with a charmed smile on his face. She was quite the beauty with her barely tamed red hair and the wolfishly narrow eyes in a noble face. Her unusual height also lent independence to her air, something accentuated by the cheerful yellow sundress exposing her arms and the shapely contours of her calves.

"Will you please just give in and be a nanny? Quince needs your painful cynicism to keep her safe," Feyhaln was saying.

"There's only room in our strange family for one grouchy humbug," the woman replied, a smile on her face. Allen felt something was strange in the expression, something that shouldn't be present in the face of a woman.

"You're not a humbug," Feyhaln insisted. He put a hand on the small of her back as he held a door back for her. "And you're not really grouchy. You're more like my old drill sergeants."

"Men like that know how to get things done," she approved to Feyhaln's chuckle. "Have you agreed to call your son by his proper name yet?" she changed the subject.

"How do you know it'll be a boy?"

"Because Greighlen is far too active to be a girl."

"Mother always said she was certain you were a boy, you know."

"Then I'll take your boyish baby girl and raise her in the heartland as one of my own."

"I don't think the Hydra could handle two of you," Feyhaln laughed. Allen was careful to walk several paces behind them quietly, enjoying their conversation. He studied the woman's straight posture and her slender neck, along with the all terrain swagger that gave her a bit of roguish defiance. "Would you like some tea or something while we wait?"

"No, let's just sit by some windows. I need to get the reek of this morning's massacre out of my lungs."

"Ah! I meant to ask you about that," Feyhaln gasped suddenly. "What happened?"

"There was a big rumble at the markets. A bunch of middling swordsmen trying to make a name for themselves by claiming some minor market. Instead things escalated and all we got was enough carnage to send my worthless salve maker into hysterics and I watched my excellent apprentice die a little more inside." The woman's tone was almost condescending, so disgusted with the entirety of the incident as to sound indifferent. She turned to look at Feyhaln and Allen placed it. She had the jaded eyes of a soldier, an expression of death written into her face.

"That's terrible…how many?"

"Twelve dead, fifteen wounded. One amputation. I hate using Sally," she said monotone.

"You still call that horrid bone saw Sally?" Feyhaln shivered.

"I hate Sally," she reiterated.

"On a happier note the Commander should be here soon," Feyhaln sighed, not even bothering with a smile. Allen felt a little ashamed to have followed them so far, particularly since he was the reason for their meeting.

"If I'd known I was this morning's object I would have made my presence known sooner, Knight Wilks," Allen decided to play his cards. He came forward and took the heavy door to the morning meeting room.

"Commander!" Feyhaln snapped to attention, his posture ramrod perfect. The woman beside him fixed Feyhaln with a crippling look of mockery before turning her attention to Allen, clearly well pleased to match only her own pace. It was intentionally arrogant.

"Knight of Caelie Allen Schezar. It's a pleasure," she dipped a little curtsey, so uniform and exact it was almost military.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, miss?" he bowed to her fluidly, her eyes locking with his. He felt suddenly like they were about to duel.

"Darjah Wilks, sir," Feyhaln replied, still at stiff attention. "She's my younger sister, sir."

"I can see the family resemblance. At ease, Knight," Allen added. Feyhaln visibly relaxed, seeming to collect his scattered wits. "So what brings you here to me, Lady Wilks?"

"I have earned no titles, Lord Schezar. Miss Wilks will do fine," Darjah replied taking her flustered brother and dragging him through the door Allen still held open. He followed them in and watched as she made no qualms about unlatching the window and pushing it open. She sighed in the fresh air and turned to sit in the sill, sunlight spilling over one shoulder and flashing in one cold gray eye.

"I wanted to ask you if you recognize this necklace." Her slender fingers touched on something at the hollow of her throat. Allen came forward and extended his hand.

"May I?" he asked. She reached for the clasp. "No need to remove it," he assured her as a coy excuse, appreciating the amused look creeping into her features. His gloved fingertips brushed hers and she titled her head to one side as he leaned closer. At first his interest was on the lines of her collar bone and the smell of bath salts. But suddenly the red pendant came into sharp focus.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, all flirtation forgotten.

"I found it in all the bodies this morning. I believe I met its owner last night pining after it." She crossed her legs, staring directly into his face. It would have been a flirtatious display except that both of them were very serious about the owner. "I was told in an effort to comfort him that should I find it I should come to you."

"I will return it to him immediately," Allen nodded, thinking of Van's devastated expression as soon as he had realized it was gone.

"I would like to do the honors," she dissented. Allen's suspicions were immediately raised. He didn't mind a shark circling himself but Van was not an expert in women and character.

"Commander," Feyhaln bowed deeply, asking for his attention. Allen's hand closed around the pendant as he turned away from Darjah, almost frightened she would flee with the treasure. "Please, I know that my sister Darjah's manners are unusual and her tact is lacking. But she is an upstanding citizen and there is no one I would trust more with my life. You have my honor as a Knight she will do nothing to harm the owner of that pendant."

"You mistake my meaning," Allen said slightly abashed that he should offend Feyhaln in any way. "The owner is a dear friend of mine and I know how much it means to him. I am only anxious to return it."

"Then shall we quit wasting time?" Darjah lifted one eyebrow managing to not be coy at all. Allen wondered how such a beautiful woman could send such cold shivers down his spine. He'd never met anyone like her.

"Pray, will you first tell me more about Sally?" Allen asked. Her eyebrows came up in a few seconds surprise before a laugh lit her features.

"Sally is my saw toothed conscience. She reminds me to use her only as a last resort and that a healer must go to any lengths to save a life." She chuckled again as if in disbelief he would be curious about Sally. A dark look replaced her laughter as she looked up at him. "I really hate Sally but I'll bring her to tea if you think she'd be a good time."

"You can just pass her my regards," Allen replied releasing the necklace. Yes, Darjah was someone the battlefield had broken but she did not register as a threat. "Shall we, Miss Wilks?" he offered his arm. Darjah took it and stood with her smooth, athletic swagger. "Feyhaln, will you wait here for the other Knights? You have my word no harm will befall your sister."

"Honestly sir if you wished her harm I'd be more concerned for you," Feyhaln smiled. "Please treat the Commander well Darjah. He's a good man."

"I have my lady face on," Darjah answered with a shrug. Allen noticed the old burn mark on her arm as it moved. He waited until they were in the hallway once again before attempting conversation.

"Where did you meet my wayward friend?" Allen prompted when the door had closed on Feyhaln.

"He was in the middle of Hydra in the rain, staring after the Mystic Moon," Darjah responded.

"Ah," Allen nodded envisioning the scene perfectly. "He is rather poetic sometimes."

"He's plum foolish," Darjah corrected. "A fine sword arm and good health all risked in the rain."

"Surely you must have some compassion for him after losing something so precious?" Allen asked giving her an emotionless habitual smile.

"I've seen too many good men die of easily prevented sicknesses while pining for a woman. Compassion is saving them so they can find another one. There are always others." She fixed him with her soldier's eyes. With an obvious stab at him she produced a terribly hollow smile.

"You're a jaded woman Miss Wilks," Allen let his smile drop.

"You're hardly any better yourself, Lord Schezar."

"May I be blunt?"

"I prefer it,"

"I don't care for you much, Miss Wilks. You're very different from your brother. Please return the stone to Van and be on your way."

"I'd have it no other way, Lord Schezar."

They were silent the rest of the way, connected by her fingers on his arm. The connection was a dead one, like a limb waiting for amputation. Listening to their footsteps Allen was relieved when he saw Van's door. He gave a light rap.

"Van, are you awake?"

"Come in Allen," Van called still sounding distant.

"I have someone who may cheer you up. Are you decent?" Allen inquired.

"Please, come in," Van prompted sounding a bit more interested. Allen glanced at Darjah.

"Try not to sound so dispiriting," Allen warned her. She removed her hand from his arm and fiddled with the clasp.

"I don't answer to you, Lord Schezar," she replied coolly as Hitomi's necklace came away from her bronzed neck. She cupped it in her palms and put her hands behind her back as Allen opened the door.

Van was sitting in an open window, his hair a wreck and still in the same clothes from the previous night when he had returned sopping wet. He looked over at the sound of their approach and seemed to study Darjah a moment.

"So you made it home by cover of rain, Blue Blood," Darjah said, a wry smile settling on her face. Van stood up surprised. A ray of light entered his eyes. "And you took my advice about the brandy," she glanced at an overturned bottle on a small dresser table.

"It was whiskey," Van replied.

"Whiskey is the drink of amputation. Brandy will soothe the soul. Remember that next time," she chastised. "On your knees Blue Blood and close your eyes." Allen was about to object when Van crossed the room and dropped like a slain foe before her. He shut his eyes, brows drawn as moisture rimmed his lashes. Darjah pulled the necklace out from behind her back and carefully began fastening it around his shoulders. Van's fists clenched as he struggled not to cry for joy. Darjah finished with the clasp and arranged it just so on his chest before cupping his face and kissing his forehead lightly.

Allen watched the strange scene before him. Van looked like a man in the arms of an angel, his expression blissful before the dark skinned, saffron dressed woman who only smiled in the likeness of death. For her part Darjah was transformed too, her features softened into true compassion.

"Please be careful, Blue Blood. Fate is yet fickler a mistress than even I," Darjah smiled, the sun gleaming in her gray eyes and red hair. Allen marveled at the change. Van's eyes opened and his hand closed around the stone.

"Thank you," he smiled. Darjah nodded to him and turned to leave. "Van!" Van exclaimed. "My name is Van de Fanel!"

"Darjah Wilks," Darjah said over her shoulder. Allen stepped out of the way for her to leave. When she was gone Allen turned to his friend. Van was studying the pendant lovingly, his relief and gratitude tangible.

"If there's ever anything I can do to repay that woman, I'll go to the ends of Gaea," Van smiled at Allen.

"Careful with that sort of promise," Allen warned, happy to see Van relaxed again. "Now clean up, act like a King. You've got lots of business to attend."


	5. Return Favor

Return Favor

"Undertaker, I don't think even I am quite as perverse," Darjah sighed as she selected one of the skull shaped cookies from the platter he offered. The mild faced undertaker with wild black hair and a tattered suit chuckled.

"I am not attached to life, only the profits to be gained from death," he replied. Darjah shook her head as they sat together on an incomplete coffin.

"You are slobbering in love with life and living and you know it," she corrected, sipping her tea. He chuckled mildly.

"I suppose you're right. Speaking of the living you look like you're doing well. You seem less jaded."

"I had the opportunity to perform a good deed. I suppose it has made me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, or some other such nonsense," Darjah admitted biting into an eye socket. The undertaker's smile widened as he mussed his unruly hair.

"Darjah you have been caught on the border between life and death too long. Leave it sometime. You're prettier when you have such a healthy glow," he looked into her face. She remembered a time when he was clean cut and immaculate in his uniform, a fresh faced Blue Blood eager to help the soldiers fighting in the Great War. He had rejected the honors showered on him for his superior Guimelif piloting instead choosing to live quietly as an undertaker, following her to the Hydra. In his philosophy he was sullied by death and therefore could never shake it loose so why run?

"I'm not so much pretty as striking. Mink is pretty; I am so strange I stick out in one's memory," she corrected him, flipping her hair. "Anyway Matthew, will you be my date for the Red Tide Festival?" she changed the subject.

"Oh yes, I'd like that," he nodded. "It is just in a few days and I was wondering if I should come find you to ask this year."

"We always go together. Its tradition," she shook her head. "Give me your nice suit and I'll make sure it's properly cleaned," she instructed.

"Will we go to our usual spot for the fireworks?" Matthew asked.

"Of course. Make sure you bring some of your famous peach jam. I look forward to it all year," she added. Matthew laughed with a charming innocence in his expression.

"I hate the Red Tide but you always come and make it magic," he said as he slid off the coffin. "I'll be right back Commander Wilks," he teased. Matthew vanished from the shop floor on his way to his private apartments.

"Darjah! Darjah there's someone here to see you!" Selenay exclaimed scampering into the checker tiled room. She looked young and fresh in her green dress and clean apron only just having begun her salve making for the day.

"Who is it?" she asked thinking Feyhaln should be busy and Mink wouldn't come to the Hydra without him.

"It's…well, it's a very handsome man," Selenay blushed. "And he's well dressed, much like your brother. You know, the blue coat and all."

"Blonde?" she prompted. Selenay nodded. "Give him something to drink and tell him I'll be over in a moment. I've a little business to finish with Matthew."

"A handsome one has come calling? Should I be concerned I may lose my Red Tide date?" Matthew returned with a garment bag slung over one arm.

"If it's who I think he is there will be no concern of that," she snorted biting down into another skull cookie for emphasis. Matthew chuckled and presented the bag.

"You will take some to go won't you? I almost never eat sweets," he offered her the platter of morose treats. She took it and the garments before kissing his cheek.

"Remember, peach jam. I'll be here to collect you bright and early so there's plenty of time to gather goodies for Quince and Mink."

"We shall fight the crowds nobly for such fair maidens, my Lady," he confirmed. Matthew walked she and Selenay to the door of his shop, waving farewell as they passed into the morning sunlight.

The muddy streets had finally dried into dusty catacombs as the two women made their way down the row of tenements and house shops towards the clinic. A myriad of smells came from the houses, some of food, others of perfume, and yet more of waste. The Hydra sewers were sub-quality to be sure, a plaguing source of disease of which Darjah stressed her patrons to be cautious.

"I assume you met your caller through your brother?" Selenay queried as a tangle of children leaped from the alley behind the clinic, spilling after one another as they chased a ball. Clouds of dust were kicked into the humid air.

"Kimna is a fine man, and don't you forget it," Darjah warned. Selenay opened her mouth to object. "Many good women have strayed once unintentionally only to lose everything they hold dear and be labeled forever as harlots. That's no life for you my soft salve maker."

"You know me better than that," Selenay objected.

"Which is precisely why I warn you. Innocence is the most potent charm in catching the attention of sharp eyes like this man's," Darjah nodded. "Back to your salve room and list fifteen reasons why you love Kimna before you are allowed to come back out."

"Love isn't a homework assignment," Selenay scowled.

"No, but it _is_ work. Take it from a spinster," she replied. "To the salve room," she swatted at her little apprentice as they entered the clinic. Selenay scampered off without a backward glance at the handsome Allen Schezar sitting patiently in the corner of the reception room. There were three rooms, one to receive and administer simple remedies, another larger for stay in patients and operations, and a third where Selenay spent all her time cloistered with herbs.

"You're looking well Miss Wilks," Allen said in his practiced formality. Darjah set the tray of cookies down on the island counter in the center of the room. Overhead hung a few dried herbs for quick fix teas that permeated a sweet, medicinal smell.

"I'm surprised you're here," she replied folding the garment bag and setting it aside. "I would think the great Allen Schezar could afford a more agreeable doctor." She turned to him with crossed arms. His fake smile rankled her as it reared its hollow head.

"I would not be here if it was not at the behest of my friend Van."

"Tell him to come himself. I'm not a Blue Blood penned by formality. I'm a peasant girl of the Hydra. Delicacy has little import in my dealings," she dismissed it. "Is there anything else?"

"You are remarkably unpleasant and quite different from your brother," Allen said as his smile filled with meanness.

"I like an ugly smile better than an empty one," she nodded approval. "Was there anything else?"

"Van does not know I am here. He's been looking for a way in which to repay you so I thought perhaps I would invite you to the Red Tide celebration so he might know you better and learn what would best suit you."

Darjah's eyebrows jumped in surprise. She immediately felt something close to shame for her treatment of him. Perhaps it was shame.

"It seems I should apologize for my atrocious behavior," she laughed suddenly, shaking her head. It was Allen's turn to lift his eyebrows. "You are simply a prime outlet for my hatred of the nobility. But you are a good man I have admittedly hated without reason."

"Such a suspicious change of heart," Allen narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't say I have seen the light and like you. There is something about you I detest without reason but I will try to be less overt. Would you like a skull cookie? They were baked by my morose companion of the war, Matthew Vionella," she offered the tray. Allen's eyes glanced down at them and back for a second look.

"Those are…very morose," he replied, standing and crossing the room. He lifted a cookie in one immaculate, gloved hand. "Did you say Matthew Vionella?"

"He's the undertaker down the way," she nodded turning the tray just so to examine the sweets. "He looks frumpy now but he was once a magnificent Guimelif Pilot."

"I've heard the name and I knew he retired to live unobserved. But an undertaker?" Allen frowned faintly, turning the cookie.

"They're not poison Schezar," she sunk her teeth into one to demonstrate. Allen watched her swallow and followed suit. She set the tray down and went to pour him a glass of milk from the icebox.

"Matthew Vionella became an undertaker in the Hydra," Allen was muttering to himself when she returned with two small glasses.

"Matthew was a child prodigy. The war left a much deeper scar on him and so now he feels he cannot release the hand of Death," she replied offering him a cup.

"Death walks hand in hand with each of us," Allen smiled distantly, studying the milk. "You eat well healer."

"Mink knows of my dairy addiction. She learned of it from Feyhaln after I delivered her Quince and I would accept no payment. She knew I couldn't refuse dairy and so I must forever be indebted to her," Darjah sighed. She took a long sip, relishing the taste.

"A slums girl addicted to dairy. That's unusual," Allen reflected.

"So speaks the valiant Knight having cookies and milk with a foul Dragon by his own self destructive volition," she replied.

"Has your change of heart persuaded you to attend our Red Tide celebration?" Allen returned to the point, brushing crumbs from his gleaming white gloves.

"I have promised my Red Tide to Matthew and Feyhaln. Aside from this my lust for dairy has been assuaged so I have nothing else I require."

"Vionella is yours?" Allen probed.

"Vionella is Death's," she shook her head. "It will take a woman without her smile to tempt him other directions," she provided her sickle moon grin for example.

"So there is nothing Van could do for you? Not even a small favor?" Allen pressed.

"Unless he can find a new King for the underworld and stop the killing in Hydra, then no," she laughed. Allen sighed and looked out the window with a forlorn expression.

"It has gotten bad," he agreed with more compassion than she was accustomed to hearing from nobility.

"And it will get worse. Svelda was a tyrant but he kept the peace," Darjah agreed.

"The world is better off without him," Allen's face turned cold.

"Until a new solution can be found he and his ilk are a necessary evil," Darjah shook her head. "But politics always make me ugly. Would you like to take some cookies? I would take them to Quince but I fear she might be disturbed and turn out like her dear old aunt. A connected man like you must have some lady friend who would appreciate the poor taste in humor?"

"No lady friends but perhaps my soldiers will find them entertaining," Allen folded a few into a napkin. "You could bring Vionella you know, and your brother and his family would be welcome," he tried one last time.

"We have the best spot in all of Pallas to watch," she shook her head. "But I will keep his good intentions in mind and perhaps call upon them some rainy day."

"Do come to me if that happens. Van goes between countries quite often but I will deliver the message without fail."

"Very knightly. Now unless you have wounds you're unwelcome here," she dismissed him, her good manners wearing thin.

"When I have wounds I will go to a healer who might flatter my physique rather than an old Dragon more likely to intentionally scar it," Allen replied falling into their mutual animosity with what she perceived to be a happy familiarity.


	6. Duty and Women

Duty and Women

Peacetime was perhaps more dangerous than wartime Allen reflected as his sword sparked against Van's. It made war trained hands twitch and formerly sane men lust for blood. It also hid the enemy in shrouds of protection, layer upon layer of deceit and good manners far stronger than any armor a blacksmith had ever fashioned. A good spar kept him on his toes however.

"You're distracted," Van accused moving in for a series of fast, expertly placed blows. If Allen wasn't so naturally gifted he would have found himself on a gurney.

"You're full of fight," Allen replied deflecting the last blow and taking Van's shoulder. Not feeling like following the rules of formality he gave the young King a solid knee to the gut. The breath whooshed out of his friend as he tossed him away, backing up to give him time to recover.

"Ha, I am invincible these days," Van straightened catching his breath.

"Some invincibility," Allen chuckled. Van smiled and made for him, the intensity of his focus a decided change from the floundering swordsman he had been some years ago. To fight him now was to walk the razor's edge of cunning and instinct that guided Van with lethal advantage.

"What are you so preoccupied with?" Van asked when they had sprung apart and circled again.

"Daggers hidden in cloaks," Allen responded, rolling one wrist. He needed to pay better attention or Van would really hurt him.

"How gloomy," Van chastised.

"Quite," Allen consented, shifting his weight to respond to Van's quick assault. "I'm trying to work out a solution to our present conundrum with Zaibach," he elaborated the next time they were separate.

"There isn't much you can do until Zaibach finds itself a new leader," Van lowered his guard, putting one hand on his hip as he thought sincerely about it. "I've been over this time and again and short of taking over the country like some power hungry mongrel, I can only think that it's best for them to sort it out. It will breed no further hatred between our two nations if I just keep out and make friends once the dust has settled."

"There's a lot of bloodshed between now and then," Allen replied with equal thoughtfulness.

"True, but my country has no resources with which to impose its will on anyone. My ties to Fried and Astoria are my only saving graces," Van laughed with a mild case of self deprecating humor.

"Do you think tyrants are necessary sometimes?" Allen asked, thinking of a similar thing Darjah had said. Van took a few test swings with his sword as if to be rid of his disgust at his response.

"If I was still fifteen I would tell you 'no,'" he replied holding the sword out parallel to the ground and sighting down the blade. "But with Zaibach a lawless wasteland of bandits after overthrowing their interim government, I can't see anyone but a tyrant unifying them. Who better to control a bunch of bullies than an even bigger bully?" Van sighed looking disheartened by his own thoughts. He had learned the dance of politics quite well Allen reflected.

"That just begets bloodshed," Allen challenged. Van sprang forward and Allen fended him off.

"Well, the only thing you can hope for is that the big bully will then listen to reason. There must be some intelligence in there if he has the brainpower and wherewithal to actually unite his people."

"Where will that stop? What if he decides Fanelia is next."

"I break out the Escaflowne and destroy the whole country all over again," Van smiled grimly. "But once a winner is decided all you can do is recognize him as a leader and begin establishing diplomatic connections. A country must be able to stand on its own at some basic level."

"So speaks the young King of Fanelia who walks the treacherous path of balancing the hunger of more established nations and the re-creation of his court in the face of power hungry factions," Allen laughed.

"You see, I am an excellent student," Van puffed out his chest.

"So my young protégé, have you considered King Aston's offer of Princess Ares?" Allen decided to push him a bit. Van sighed and sheathed his sword, apparently completely out of humor to continue the sparring match.

"There is only one woman I wish to marry," he answered, his hand compulsively closing over the pendant. "But she is beyond my reach so I will have to think like a politician."

"Take heart Van. There are plenty of lovers and courtesans to be had," Allen teased.

"That's hardly fair to Ares," Van shot him a sour look.

"There are two types of women…well, perhaps three," Allen replied thoughtfully. "There are the ones who deceive themselves into believing you are faithful no matter what, the ones who accept it and suffer like saints, and the women who think like men and go about finding their own pleasure. It is entirely their own choice." He smiled at the obviously exaggerated simplicity of the matter but hoped his point would be heeded.

"Just because you are the most sought after man in all of Gaea does not mean your theories are correct," Van snorted.

"So have an affair or two now, get it out of your blood, and suffer like a saint then," Allen quipped in return. "Even your savior Darjah would tell you as much. 'There are always others.' Her words exactly," he added.

"Darjah would never say such a thing," Van argued incensed.

"She would and she did. She's a scaly old Dragon who eats men for breakfast while she talks to the bone saw she named Sally." Allen made a face thinking of her condescension.

"Did she reject your advances? Is that why you don't like her?" Van laughed suddenly.

"There wasn't even time _to_ advance before she was pouring hot oil on my head," Allen grinned. "Now _that_ is a woman who thinks like a man. She might be a good time and she doesn't seem like she's foolish enough to contract diseases from her dallying."

"You shouldn't talk about her like that," Van tried to subdue his lingering chuckles and a faint blush that had risen in his cheeks.

"Ah, you like her, you do," Allen's smile got broader. "Well I don't like her but you should pursue her. She's done you a good turn and it might be fun to lay with a cynic a time or two. Who knows, maybe she has some good tricks? And it's not like she's the type to fall weeping at your doorstep."

"Is that all you think of her?" Van leveled him with a cripplingly serious look. Allen chuckled and shrugged.

"There are simply some people one cannot tolerate. Darjah it seems falls into this category."

"You're horrible," Van suddenly smiled with a hot blush in his face. "But do you think she would have me…even for a short time?"

"Who knows? I know she likes you better than she likes me," Allen shrugged. "I can injure you and send you direct to her clinic," he offered.

"I'd rather present a stronger front than the ones I've given her of a lovesick pup," Van made a face.

"Are you honestly going to pursue her?" Allen lifted one eyebrow. He pictured them together and fancied their opposite personalities would make them interesting to each other for a while. He also saw a rather striking couple, her unusual beauty with Van's rather artless handsomeness.

"Perhaps not as far as you feel I should, but I would like to know her better. It is too much an act of fate that she came to me with that pendent." Van's smile was sweet and shy, as innocent as ever. Allen envied him that youthful perception of goodness, a hope that things would be right.

"Her clinic is down in the center of the Hydra, close to the main market," Allen informed him.

"You've done your research, particularly since you don't like her," Van turned on him suspiciously.

"I went to try and invite her to the Red Tide Celebration for you, but she was going with another already. An old war hero actually. And I already asked, they're not involved and I didn't sense any such pining," he added as Van began to scowl.

"Really, you seem too attached to this one. You're sure you don't want to woo her?" he asked skeptically.

"She makes my skin crawl," Allen shook his head. "And she's mean. I like my women to flatter me. No, you can have her."

"She is rather blunt," Van conceded. "Maybe I'll drop by later today, after the council meeting."

"You should. Ah, and if you need to seduce her she has a weakness for dairy. But I would use that as a last ditch effort," Allen advised. Van laughed.

"Right. And you are an indifferent bystander," he clapped Allen on the shoulder.

"Not indifferent. I probably wish her harm, so go on and break her heart," Allen assured him.

"Speaking of broken hearts," Van snickered as they turned to see Millerna. She waved to him from across the parade ground, making quick time to meet them.

"This has got to stop," Allen sighed, pasting a smile on his face.


	7. TwoStep

Two-Step

"Would you spare me fifteen minutes?" a man asked behind her. Darjah's muscles wound tight at the sound of his voice. She stood from the tub of wash, wet up to her elbows, and turned stiffly to look at Marse.

He was still tall, still handsome. Dusky skin with ink black hair and green eyes, he stood in his well kept red coat and fine boots. The breadth of his shoulders and length of his legs still sent butterflies into her stomach but she steeled herself against such familiarity.

"You have two," she replied, disgusted she was so weak as to even give him one second of her time. Marse smiled and pulled the buttons of his coat loose. As he removed it she spotted the injury to his sword arm, the left, instantly. It was deep but not lethal, nor would it cause permanent damage by its placement. The healer in her instantly left the wash and the concern of old love hurried her into the clinic. Marse followed, his boots clicking on the stone floor. He sat down on one of the beds and pulled his shirt off as she took his arm and began cleaning the injury.

"What have you done now?" she demanded as the smell of him filled her nose. It nearly choked her with emotions she hurriedly forced down.

"Just work," he replied, his eyes fixed on the floor somewhere.

"I thought I told you to leave your cutthroat gangs," she accused without pity.

"You did. I won't," he looked up into her face. She uncorked an antibacterial mixture and let it fizzle in his wound, knowing it would burn. His face remained impassive. "You're still wearing these ugly things?" he asked instead tugging on her boyish pants.

"It's much easier to move about on call when I can run," she replied. "Particularly since thugs like you blow things up and hack each other to bits all over the Hydra," she added.

"Hmm," he answered noncommittally, pulling her towards him by the small of her back. He pressed his face into her stomach seeming to relish the touch as her knees almost went weak.

"If you won't let me work then get out," she practically snarled. He spun her around and set her on his knee, offering his injured arm.

"You can work just fine like this," he replied staring directly into her eyes. She made no further objections as she began to stitch him up. He tucked his face into the side of her neck, closing his eyes and resting. She could tell he was tired as he relaxed, the familiar weight of him against her a painful memory of happier days.

"You're done," she whispered after a moment. She pulled from his grip abruptly, angry she had been under his spell for so long. "And don't come back until you've left that life."

"I'll be back either way," he replied leaving without further action. She let out a hissed breath of relief and returned to her wash.

"I hate it when he's injured," she conceded to herself in a grumble scrubbing the sheets even more fiercely.

"I saw Marse go by. He looked cheerful," Matthew said with a whimsical smile, suddenly appearing beside her.

"Undertaker, don't try my patience," she brandished a soapy finger at him.

"The same old two step," he smiled, propping his head on one hand. "I am planning to cook for two tonight. Will you be my dinner guest?"

"I hardly need comforting," she scoffed.

"My eyes are bigger than my stomach, I just know it, but they think they're in cahoots. I really just need saving from myself, Darjah," he lied plain as day, and Darjah couldn't help but suddenly laugh.

"If it is an excuse we can both accept, then I suppose I will be your dinner guest," she sighed feeling better for the much needed levity.

"Not to rain on your parade again but I have heard interesting news from the butcher. You know his son is a Lieutenant, don't you?"

"How could I not know? It's all the man talks about," Darjah sighed heaving sodden laundry up and dumping it into a bucket of clean water.

"There is talk of war with Zaibach again," Matthew scowled. Darjah stopped washing and looked up at him.

"What?"

"Whispers in the army of Aston's greed pushing into Zaibach's borders."

"Won't that old pig just die already?" Darjah turned away, thinking of riding away from Mink just as she and her brother had ridden away from their parents. "How loud are these whispers?"

"Loud for a lieutenant to have heard them," Matthew sighed. "I have a sneaking suspicion a commission will be offered to me, and that the Knights of Caelie will find themselves once more at the forefront of strife." Darjah stopped scrubbing as thoughts of battle and the smell of death filled her. She could hear the keening wail of mourners; feel the ice of dead flesh and the tears building silently in her chest.

"How soon?"

"If I was any judge, before winter," Matthew smiled bitterly. Darjah sighed and wondered if she could get away with slaying the king. She figured that even if she were wily enough to slide past the court her family would suffer.

"Even Pallas will bleed to death if pushed too far," she sighed, resuming her wash. "She has only so many young men she can give to Aston's selfish greed."

"Would you go?" Matthew asked, surprising her.

"Where Feyhaln goes I will too. My brother will not march into Hell again without me beside him," she replied. "Neither will you." Matthew hopped the fence spryly, collecting her wash as she finished with it.

"I would have no other to battle," he smiled. "Ask your brother what he has heard. Time for preparation is never out of style."


	8. Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

Van was pleased as he made his way towards the stables fully intending to visit Darjah. He was struggling to keep his expectations and feelings in reality, fighting to keep images of pleasure from spilling through his mind. He blushed telling himself that wasn't why he was going to see Darjah.

Instead he focused on the pleasantness of the ride towards the Hydra, combating thoughts that flustered him and trying to superimpose more likely scenarios. As he followed Allen's precise handwriting through the alleys and catacombs he became aware of the stench of too many humans. In the rain it had mostly washed away but mixed with the humidity of Asturian summer, it was almost unbearable.

A little queasy he finally found the clinic, clearly marked as such. In the street there were a few chickens and he passed an undertaker's shop only two doors down. It made him wonder how good a healer she could be to live so close to the death monger. All the same he set a pleasant expression on his face and opened the door.

"You had better stop trying to cook things," came Darjah's voice in a sigh as the smell of charred meat met his nose. "Or at least take some lessons from Matthew. You'll come back with a morose education but my clinic will not practically burn down."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" squealed another woman.

"Can I help you sir?" asked a young lemur man with his enormous eyes staring at Van as he came into the room. He was a bit disheveled and wet. "Ah, don't mind them. Just a domestic disturbance," he added with a self conscious chuckle.

"Is Miss Darjah Wilks here?" he asked.

"Darjah? Yeah, just a moment," he ducked back again and Van looked up at the herbs drying on the rafters. In a moment Darjah was coming through the door wiping her hands on an apron. She looked strange in her man's waist shirt and breeches with the apron on, all that red hair piled atop her head. But it suited her somehow with her long legs and slender frame.

"Well Blue Blood!" she lifted her eyebrows.

"Miss Wilks," he smiled, feeling foolish for having brought nothing. He could have at least brought her flowers.

"You're looking well. What brought you here?"

"I guess I just wanted to see you," he answered turning red for his own honesty.

"I see," she eyed him up and down and he smiled bashfully, feeling like she could see clear through him. Common women were intimidating to him, particularly the ones that lived in the slums with worldly educations. They couldn't play pianos or walk delicately but they knew individuals and the ways of life far better. "Well you're a lost cause on all sorts of levels, aren't you boy?" she gave him that warm, angelic smile.

"Yeah, I guess," he scratched the back of his head and hated that he floundered.

"They've had some good catches at the docks lately. Come on," she motioned for him to follow as she untied her apron. Setting it aside they passed into the bright sunlight. "So Blue Blood, what piece of the soul ails you?" she asked looking over at him as they fell in stride. She was so much taller than most women he'd ever met.

"Just foolishness," he replied feeling guilty for thinking such impure thoughts about her.

"Foolishness is pining in pouring rain. Reason brought you from a palace into the Hydra," she corrected in her usual bluntness. He laughed and looked away from her. "Then tell me about these rumors of war," she changed gears on him.

"You've heard down here?" he was surprised.

"The Hydra has one hundred heads. One of them is bound to hear such a secret," she answered with a no nonsense tone.

"The Asturian court is considering conquering Zaibach in order to bring stability and rule until a suitable leader can be found," he explained with a sigh. "Personally I think it's foolish. It will only breed animosity."

"Aston will bleed us dry. There isn't enough money in the world to replace the sons, fathers, and brothers with which he has filled our cemeteries," she growled with surprising venom.

"Did you lose in the war?"

"Who did not?" she snapped with a very unladylike snort. "Is there a date for this war?"

"They're still debating although it's mostly for show. All the nobility are thinking about the economic benefits. I would be surprised if the Asturian army was not camped on Zaibach borders by fall."

"Ah, so soon. Selenay is still just a kid. Well, Kimna will look after her although I hate to leave them alone before the wedding," she sighed, folding her arms as she thought.

"Where will you go?" Van asked.

"To war. I have to bring Feyhaln home." She looked up with such a clear expression it took him a moment to register what she'd said.

"Why would you go to war? There's only pain and blood and death…"

"I've only got two hands." Darjah stopped as she lifted them up towards the sunlight. Van watched the shadows of her fingers stripe across her face and studied the slenderness of her profile. "But if I keep taking hold of the others and pull them from the grave, then that's a lot of men saved. That's a lot of fathers, brothers, and sons to go home." She stood a moment chasing that thought, stretching a little higher and turning her hands up as if to grasp something.

"That's the problem with war," Van reached up and took one of her hands, bringing it back down so he could follow the long lines of her fingers. "It claims all the good ones."

"Death is a lonesome beast, Van. When you're invited to dine at his table before he takes you to bed the only thing you can do is laugh and be merry." That tender smile came across her face again, a soft, sweet expression that made him shudder to think of lust. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, smelling the burnt food and medicine clinging to her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't come here with very pure intentions," he conceded as he released her and they resumed their trek towards the docks.

"I know," she replied. "So I ask again, what ails you?"

"Women," he grinned crookedly. She shrugged but seemed no less inclined to listen. "Duty and women combined. Silly troubles, something nobility gets tangled up in with lineage and alliances. I was being honest when I said foolishness brought me to you."

"It's not foolery to feel, Blue Blood," she encouraged. Van felt silly talking about it but Darjah seemed completely disposed to listen. "Then I will prompt. Who was she that gave you your pendant?"

"Ah, the girl from the Mystic Moon." He touched it reflexively.

"Ah," Darjah looked to the sky again.

"It's right that she's home. At fifteen how could I ask her to stay? And it's foolish to still prefer her – love her – more than any other…" he confided, blushing for such vulnerable women's talk.

"In here. A beer will loosen your tongue," she took him by the elbow, leading him into a grimy little pub right next to the docks. The smell of salt and alcohol was heavy along with the distinct odor of fishermen. She dragged them to a table for two and commanded a round of beer and a sea food stew she promised was to die for.

In two rounds he had confided his attempts at forgetting Hitomi, the few romps between, and the impending marriage to Aeris. He wasn't drunk and they both knew it but it was a convenient crutch for honesty. She listened without interruption except to clarify when he began muttering and listened with a woman's attentiveness and a man's understanding of the bedroom.

When he was through and fell silent, pushing a clam around in his soup, she put aside her spoon and laced her fingers. She studied him over them. He was nervous at such careful attention.

"You didn't come here for my advice but this is what I know," she said at length. Part of his heart sunk, waiting for a lecture on his debauchery. "You will never forget her, so don't try." Her eyes dropped from his to glare at the wood grain of the table. The background noise faded behind them. "I have…tried for many years to forget. I tried replacing him with many lovers. But I find that if I look for it, I find a way to love others. Each love is slightly different, each for different reasons. I have never found another as deep, which courses through me like life, but perhaps I have just not given it the effort."

She paused again and Van saw something vulnerable in her eyes. He thought she was beautiful there in her men's clothing with a beer beside her. It was beautiful that she sat so earnest before him, so close and so far.

"Do you understand?" she looked back at him.

"I think so," he nodded, soup and beer forgotten. She looked down at the table reflexively and folded her hands, looking almost like she wanted to cry.

"Ah, sorry. I'll be fine in a minute," she touched her forehead. He reached across the table and took that hand.

"Darjah…will you be in love with me for a season?"

She smiled again and stood up, leaning across the table to give him a little kiss on the cheek.

"It'll be the best season in a long time."


	9. A Sip of Humanity

A Sip of Humanity

Van had been unusually calm the past few weeks. Allen put two and two together and realized Darjah was the cause but he wondered when Van found the time and how he'd gotten so discreet. Even the servants didn't seem to know a thing and Allen always knew what the servants knew.

There wasn't time these days though, not with Aston's push to ready the troops and settle things with Fanelia. The wedding had been finalized between Van and Aeris, preparations sailing through, while other groups fled to congratulate the new couple. Van however grappled with the notion of going to war with Zaibach and point blank refused to participate even at the risk of cancelling the marriage. In fact he was the only person who opposed it. Even a few of the other nations had agreed to go.

Aeris had been very calming of her father and convinced him to keep the marriage in spite of Van's contrary refusal. She reasoned that Van was a powerful ally with sound judgment, the advantage of his Escaflowne and the rich farming that would be theirs to help feed the growing populace. He would also be a suitable guard for the time most of their troops were away.

At present Allen was taking a break from his duties to wander through the countryside. He was getting tired lately and Millerna's hounding was even worse now that Van's wedding date was set. Every other word had something to do with marriage and indirect insinuation. He was coming up on the end of his tact.

"Hmm, that feels nice," he heard as he crested a hill. He recognized Van's voice and saw him lying back in a woman's arms. If he hadn't known it was Darjah it would have taken him a moment to recognize her. With her hair long and unbound wearing only Van's shirt as they lounged on a blanket, she wore a smile so calm and easy it made her look entirely different. Her fingers trailed through Van's dark hair and wandered in little circles on his chest. Allen took quiet steps back and away from them fully intending to leave when their conversation took a different turn.

"The wedding date is set," Van stated.

"Congratulations." There was no trace of animosity in her voice, not even the faintest hint of disappointment. Allen stole a look back at her to read her face. It maintained the sentiments of her tone. "You'll make her a happy woman." Van smiled and shifted, pushing her back onto the saffron blanket they'd spread beneath their picnic.

"Do you say that as a satisfied woman or encouraging companion?" he asked with his shadow falling over her face. The expression he wore was something Allen had never seen. It was sultry and dominant.

"Satisfied woman with a dash of encouraging companion," she replied with a stretch. Van smiled as her arms looped around his neck, pulling him down.

"Hold on, you insatiable wench," Van snickered. He let her push him over and sit on his chest as his fingers rested lightly on her thighs. "I'll be married probably just before the troops are formally dispatched. Give me a wedding gift and promise not to go."

"This again?" She leaned forward pouting as she ran her fingers through his hair. "War will be happy to see me. We were intimate friends."

"Don't go," Van repeated.

"Your place is at the altar; mine is with soldiers. We each have inescapable duties."

"You could easily avoid the war,"

"And you could easily avoid this wedding. But there is duty and honor that binds you." She kissed his chest as he lay staring up at the sky. A troubled look crossed his face and his arms suddenly constricted around her.

"I don't want you to go, Darjah," he pleaded. Allen's eyebrows came together and he wondered if he had done the right thing encouraging this. It had worked wonders for Van but he tended to have trouble letting go. "Please."

"I will go, lover," she disagreed softly. Allen now made a point to leave. When he was a safe distance from their place he picked up his pace and made a direct line towards town and the horse he'd tethered at a local inn. As he was pulling the reins down he spotted Mink Wilks through the window, gazing forlornly at the sky. Her beautiful dark eyes were the picture of sadness as she sat contemplating the distance.

Feyhaln was presently with his unit working with the green recruits. Allen knew this because he had seen the young Knight at it just as he was leaving. The news of the impending war had spread rapidly so it was not hard to realize Mink was already thinking of the long, lonesome days ahead when she would be worrying about her husband on the fronts.

"Lady Wilks," Allen said as he found himself standing before her. She jumped and turned away from the window. It took her a moment to reorient herself, stitching her consciousness back into the present. Her sweet smile spread in the smooth warmth of honey as she recognized him.

"Lord Schezar. Please, won't you sit?"

"Don't stand, please," he raised a hand as she pushed down on the table with her slender arms. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Be easy, Lady Wilks. We're old friends, you and I," he assured her as he took a seat across the table. "How are you feeling these days?"

"I am happy for my second child but I will be happier when my body is my own again," she replied with a little laugh. Her bird-fine fingers laced so that her chin could rest on them charmingly. "But you look tired yourself, Lord Schezar."

"Perhaps I just feel my age coming," he answered with a pleasant smile.

"Tut, tut. You're still the most eligible bachelor in all of Gaea." Mink clucked her tongue. A spark of real gentleness touched his eyes as Allen felt himself relaxing in her sweet presence. "Were you just out for a stroll?"

"Enjoying the good weather we're having. I can never get enough of late summer." He nodded.

"I prefer spring myself. For some reason I love the cold snowmelt in the morning and evenings. Maybe because it is the perfect weather to hold close the ones you love." Mink sighed as memories played in her eyes.

"What are you doing so far from home and by yourself?"

"Oh I'm not alone. Edmund came with me. The nanny is looking after little Quince for the afternoon and I thought I would meet Darjah here. She has a weakness for the milk tea the chef makes." The last sentence was whispered conspiratorially, as if Mink were planning an ambush. "I wound up here a bit sooner than I meant, so it's a good thing you came by. I try to keep from spending too much time alone."

"I'll look after him, Mink," Allen fixed his eyes to hers. Her eyebrows came together as she struggled to bridle the emotion.

"Oh I wish this wasn't happening."

"Your duty is to think about little life," Darjah's voice came to startle them both. They jumped as Darjah put her hand into Mink's thick, dark curls. She looked down with that near angelic expression, the hard edges softened by the compassion and love in her eyes. "Think about fat starfish fingers those little eyes eager for mommy's smile."

"Darjah!" Mink exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Darjah's waist. She was dressed again in a plain sundress, sleeves rolled back with a loose braid plaited into her hair. The dress was off white, as if the fabric had never been properly dyed.

"How long have you been waiting here?" Darjah asked as her fingers parted the strands of Mink's hair. The noblewoman composed herself quickly.

"Not long," she answered with a smile. "Lord Schezar happened to bump into me here so I have no idea how much time may have passed," she added innocently.

"Do I find myself in the delicious position of avenging my brother's honor, Lord Schezar?" Darcy turned to look at him with playful suspicion on her face. There was a calm undercurrent of happiness in her Allen hadn't seen before.

"Does he Lady Wilks?" Allen asked Mink.

"Actually I had been rather hoping Darjah would have caught your eye, Lord Schezar," Mink replied with some small degree of mischievousness. Allen gave a startled bark of laughter, thinking of Darjah's skeleton smile and the bone grim twinkle in her smoky gaze. "Why are you laughing? My sister is beautiful, smart, and quite untouchable. She has all the requirements necessary of any great court lady," Mink said with a severity he wasn't certain how to interpret.

"Mink, there are certain things you only learn after you have seen them in action. Such is the way of the scalpel or Sally. Allow me to demonstrate," Darjah said. Allen watched her come to stand beside him. She placed one strong hand on his shoulder and smiled with the sickly sweet of decaying flowers. Mink observed them as Allen gazed back at her skeptically.

Mink's smooth brow furrowed as she studied them. Her expression was slowly permeated by dissatisfaction.

"You have your mean face on, Darjah. I sent you with instructions to woo," Mink sniffed finally, looking away from them.

"How do you expect two mangy wolves to get along?" Darjah slapped Allen's back roughly before pulling up a chair to join her sister-in-law.

"Neither of you is mangy. Allen's a fine gentleman and you're absolutely worthy of rank and honors if you'd play nice."

"Unfortunately Lady Wilks I will have to side with Miss Wilks," Allen dissented. "The pair of us are, in our way, mangy lone wolves."

"But I expect the two of you to work together to bring my Feyhaln home with you," Mink looked at him severely. "I don't care what your differences you will present a united front and come home together. Is that understood?"

"Yes mother," Darjah smiled crookedly. "So Allen dearest, will you be joining us for dinner? You know mother is so strict when you leave early, honey."

"You've not eaten then…sweetest?" he said the pet name despite the fact that it stuck like a chicken bone in his throat. This hesitation was not lost on Darjah who seemed to relish the moment like a fine wine.

"You know I'm always hungry pumpkin," she answered. Mink's little hand thumped against Darjah's shoulder. "Who taught you table manners?"

"Don't be so condescending you two! I left Quince home specifically so I wouldn't have to mother anyone!" Mink brandished a finger. Her face shifted and she lurched up holding her belly.

"Please walk. That's my nephew you're incubating," Darjah cautioned as Mink looked like she was about to bolt.

"When you get pregnant I will spare you not pity," Mink gave Darjah the most petulant smile Allen had ever seen on her face before she waddled in the direction of the bathroom. Darjah laughed but the humor didn't touch her eyes this time.

"You're really going away to the fronts?" Allen asked once Mink was gone. All pretenses of amusement dropped from Darjah's face and she became once more the grim creature with which he was so familiar.

"What of it, Schezar?" she gave him something of a weary look.

"Shall I include some flower curtains in your tent equipment?" he jibed, hoping to provoke her into a bit more liveliness – to cheer her he supposed.

"I guarantee I will last in the Zaibach wastes far better than most of your troops, and you'll be grateful for my remedies when the wavering heat strikes madness into their minds." She flashed him an insincere smile.

"Or perhaps you'll be the one driving them mad." Allen adopted seriousness now that he realized she was in a foul mood. The talk with Van must have gone poorly.

"If you can't stand me I'm sure your average man will have no problem noticing my prickly character over my rather amazing physique," she extended one arm and studied the smooth skin. Her rough fingers curled slightly as a flash of sunlight fell over her palm. "Forgive me but I'm a bit out of spirits today, Schezar."

"Over the wedding," Allen nodded and immediately wished he hadn't said it.

"No, Van will be fine," Darjah sighed and curled her hand into a fist. "He's the sort that will find a way to love given time. Like I said, there are always others."

"Even you can't be so cruel as to bait my curiosity," Allen prompted as his blue eyes flicked to Mink. She was caught up with a portly cook. They looked to be discussing the baby and the daily special.

"Such concern," Darjah turned her December eyes onto him like a withering frost. "I'm afraid," her expression became brittle and somber. "The ones I love will not all be within my influence, and I'm afraid death may invite one of them to his chambers before I can intervene."

Very abruptly Darjah stood up before something human could touch her face. Allen almost saw it. He almost captured the delicate fluctuation of emotion that would have melted Darjah from winter into summer. Instead he only felt it in the pit of his stomach. He was halfway on his feet when she pushed him back down into his seat.

"Stay with her please."

She was gone before Allen could stop her. The feeling of her hand on his shoulder lingered, the hard strength of it leaving an impression he couldn't shake. He compared her expression with Van – warm as the summer sun spilling through her autumnal hair – and her expression beside him – chilling as the mourning garb of bereft Hydra wives.

"What happened to Darjah?" Mink frowned as she came with a steaming mug of milky brown tea. "The cook made it special – just how she likes it."

"Business back in the Hydra," Allen answered. "I promise, I did not frighten her away," he added at her sharp look. "I'll sit with you instead. They can last a few more hours without me. Thank you, I'll take care of that tea."


	10. A Winter Summons

A Winter Summons

It was cold this morning. Summer had bled into Autumn. Darjah knew this chill. She tightened the girth strap on her horse before dawn standing in the first frost. Her saddlebags were full and her tent gear was strapped onto the mount too. It was a beautiful steed Feyhaln had purchased for her already war trained.

Marse's rough hands suddenly appeared before her, his presence materializing behind her. She watched him test her handy work and knew their quick movements were slowing with the certainty of her preparations. Finally they stopped altogether and pressed over her cold fingers, his chest and arms closing her in.

"Who will tend the Hydra?" he asked. The fog of his breath curled over one shoulder.

"If you keep on like this it won't matter who's tending it. They Hydra will bleed out. But Aston will kill far more men then you will right now," Darjah replied studying the flecked scars over his knuckles.

"Who will tend you?"

"Weeds don't usually require much tending," Darjah answered as she slipped her hands free. Marse turned her around abruptly and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

Perhaps because there was so much cold in the air and the tang of impending carnage in her mind or perhaps because it was still dark and the last vestiges of a dream world would allow her to pretend the years had not happened, Darjah returned his embrace. Her arms pulled on him as fiercely as if things had never changed between them. She smelled the chill of a night's rounds on his coat and felt the heat permeating through the layers to warm her skin.

"Come home again Darjah," Marse commanded softly. His scruff was too familiar on her forehead. "I will remake the Hydra for you."

"Don't remake anything Marse. Just come back, come home," she shook her head. Slowly he relinquished her. They stared at each other a long moment before he lifted her easily and set her in the saddle. She pulled up the fur rimed hood of her coat and slid the fur lined boots into the stirrups.

Marse in the mean time pulled out an old wooden carving of a sea serpent on a leather throng. He wrapped the cord around her wrist several times before knotting it securely. She looked at the mark of faith she had long ago lost but accepted the love in the gesture. Kissing the wood talisman she swung the horse's head around and began down the narrow roads towards Matthew's shop.

Vionella was pointedly standing with his back to her as he fussed over his horse. He was in a pressed uniform of the Asturian army but his onyx hair was as unkempt as ever while he still hadn't bothered to shave in a few days. From behind – and ignoring the way his hair tangled about his head – he looked almost like the white knight.

As a boy of fifteen Matthew had been well built; he still filled out his uniform handsomely and his expressions were dashing when coupled with his gentle humor and sterns sense of justice. He turned around at the approach of hooves and smiled.

"Goodbyes are never fun," he made a face as he mounted.

"You looked absolutely presentable before you turned around," she jibed. He brushed a shock of hair back and shrugged.

"I'll be in a guimelif. Who will see me?" He fished in a satchel and offered her an organ shaped scone still steaming.

"Lungs today," she raised her eyebrows as she accepted and bit into the lemon-poppy offering. The warm bread melted on her tongue.

"I was thinking about shaping it as a tombstone but the morning is already grim enough," Matthew answered as she smirked around a mouthful. "I will be serving in the 3rd regiment with my own troupe of mechanics and squires. It's an impressive offer."

"The 3rd regiment…I'm set to be second in command to the head surgeon of the main army. We've got four Knights of Caelie, so I suppose that will put us in the heart of things. If I recall the third will be carving west into the country, right?"

"We travel with you until we get close to the border," Matthew nodded. "I assume we'll eventually meet again once we're victorious."

"Whether we're victorious or not we'll meet again,"

"But I wonder whose table we'll be sitting at?" he gave her a dreamy smile.

"Mink's of course," she snorted. "We'll have to make up for the winter festival meal we'll be missing."

"Mm, and that apple cider…what a shame the war has put such a crimp in our plans," Matthew agreed with a little sigh.

They bantered idly for a few more blocks before they fell silent and began to join the growing stream of men and boys moving to the camps at the edge of town. They were uniformed and mostly tired. Some looked excited for a chance to prove themselves – those too young to fight back during the Great War – and others were grim – mostly veterans or older men convinced they would not be coming home again.

Serious faced women and crying children peered out from windows and watched the procession of their men. Darjah in the meantime prepared herself for the hardships ahead. She conjured up the hunger of a starving battlefront, the thirst of long marches, the heat and bitter cold of the campsites. All the ugliness of war filled her; the reeking smell, the barbarism, the way men's minds twisted and warped, the way soldiers cried dry tears and their hollowed expressions as they turned to look at her when she spoke.

Once arriving at the parade grounds she and Matthew parted ways. By now the sunlight was beginning to shine over the frosted woods surrounding the outskirts of the city. The cold metal of guimelifs as their engineers double and triple checked them gleamed. She heard the fray of men posturing for status in their units and the youthful boasts of those excited for battle. Hundreds of horses with their creaking tack were seen to as thousands of boots scampered against the frozen ground.

Darjah found herself finally amidst the other healers and knew she was in the right place by the smell of their packs and the softness of many young faces. These medical students had no idea what they were getting themselves into. There were a handful of older men and women who bore similar expressions to her own and they immediately acknowledged her presence with a grim nod.

"Name?" asked a man somewhere in his forties with a stiff beard and braids at either temple. He was broad shouldered and fit but not built like a soldier. Darjah dismounted respectfully.

"Darjah Wilks," she replied as his eyebrows came together.

"I thought you'd be older," he said gruffly. "You were a cub in the Great War."

"Fifteen sir," she nodded. "Twenty one now. Experienced then and continued practice in the Hydra."

"Your name is all over Palas. You're famous for your work there," he nodded. "Good to have seasoned hands on board. My name is Huron."

"Huron? Huron Rathwell?" Darjah's eyes widened. He gave her a nod. "It will be an honor serving with you."

"If any honor is to be had in war," he snorted and Darjah smiled crookedly. "Come with me. I'm to report when my staff is all arrived to the commander. We'll be moving out in about three hours time and I'm sure we must be acquainted with all the rosters and the people who decide what other people will be killed."

"Sir," Darjah nodded as she tied up her horse to a hitching post. Falling in stride beside him they crossed through the throngs towards the squat stone building once a farmhouse now in use of the army. Adjutants and messengers darted like humming birds as beautiful horses with gleaming tack pawed at the ground impatiently.

"Have you ever been to one of these war meetings before?" Huron asked gruffly. She shook her head. "Bunch of peacocks strutting their feathers. They keep attempting order in the chaos of war."

"It's always good to identify the butchers," Darjah replied with a shrug. "You know who does and does not value his men and what sort of risks he'll take. You know how strong a healer you need to send or how many to try and stem the blood flow," she added by way of explanation. Huron's smile twisted up one side of his face as he pulled the door back for her.

"You'll do, Wilks. You'll do," he nodded as she entered first.

"These are our intended routes," a stocky man was explaining over an enormous map as he pushed small pieces around with a riding crop. Gathered around him were an array of men of all types. They were all noble birth – barring Feyhaln standing at one corner of the table Allen, both entirely absorbed – with varying degrees of competence and reputation. Darjah knew no names but she recognized their merit in the state of their uniform and the expressions they bore. Some looked bored, others uninterested, a few were fired up – dangerous ambition – and then there were those who watched everything with rapt absorption, their minds already hard at work on stratagem.

There was the divvying of units and approaches and when the stocky general had finished he looked around the room for objections. There were none to be had in particular and as Huron sensed the lull in conversation he shouldered forward clearing his throat.

"Ah, Huron Rathwell. Gentlemen, this here is our lead physician. He will administer to all the camp needs," the general introduced him. Huron swept the room. "He's the head of the healers' collegiums in Palas. Who did you select as your second?"

"This is Darjah Wilks, Great War veteran and the lead healer in the Hydra." Huron motioned her forward. She came to stand beside him, equal to his height though her athletic build made her seem unusually slight amidst all these either portly or athletic professional soldiers.

"She's a child Huron. I asked for your second," the general laughed openly to the amusement of his fellows. "Now come, show me your second. Send your errand girl to finish her errands and bring me a real healer." Darjah saw Feyhaln bristle and Allen restrain him with the flick of a wrist. She crossed her arms and did a quick surveillance of the whole room.

"Unfortunately gentlemen I am the closest thing to a miracle you will have in this blood fest," Darjah informed them. "The less you trust in my skill the more careful you'll be with your men. Do stop me however if the need arises."

"What good is a healer we do not trust?" the general asked her as she turned to go. She turned back around and came to the table. Leaning across it she examined the premeditated murder about to unfold and smiled wickedly.

"Your healers are the heartbeat of your army. If you cut your own throat however there will be nothing your heart can do for you."

"Your job is to keep my men alive come hell or high water," the general adopted an equally serious tone. "If that is not your intention you can leave this camp right now."

"How many of your men were recruited from the Hydra?" Darjah asked him as she stood up and the room watched their argument raptly.

"I'd say half the army now is made up of Hydra men, even a fair portion of our reserve soldiers trace their roots back to the Hydra."

"Ask any of them if they've heard of me and chances are I put either them, or the best friend, or their family member back together or I delivered their children. Once you've done your homework come back and I might accept your apology."

"I will vouch on her behalf," Allen spoke suddenly as the general's expression blackened. Darjah's eyes flashed to him. "Her manners are uncouth but I have heard a great deal of her prowess from a number of my own soldiers. When I understood a woman not part of the collegiums was to accompany us I took the liberty of researching it myself. She is also well respected within the collegiums and has worked during the war with a number of very prestigious doctors."

"Allen, how amusing you should come to her aid," the general smiled with a mean look. Darjah immediately recognized bad blood between them. "Has she impressed you with her prowess any?"

"Her brother, Knight Feyhaln Wilks, is my esteemed colleague. It is through him that we have met a handful of times on business matters," Allen replied without responding to the provocation. Feyhaln however was radiating anger, his boyish face set with murderous calm in such a way that it even made the hair on the back of Darjah's neck bristle.

"My sister is more than suitable as a healer, though I hope none of you esteemed gentlemen have need of her skills. If the meeting is adjourned then I will attend my other duties. Come Darjah, I'm certain you've organizing to do as well." With one last crippling look at the general Feyhaln crossed the room and put a hand on the small of her back to lead her outside.

"Must you antagonize everyone?" Feyhaln demanded as the cold touched their cheeks after the stifling atmosphere inside.

"Just because I'm a woman," she snorted.

"And as such you have a delicate reputation," Feyhaln stressed mercilessly. "All the competence in the world can't save you from the scorn of powerful men."

"I have no political aspirations and you're already a knight. Granted I may be damaging Quince and Greighlin's marriageable futures…" Darjah paused to consider it when Feyhaln stopped her and turned her around to look at him.

"Darjah, would you stop to think for just one minute that maybe I want people to think well of you for your sake, not for mine or my children's. We'll get through between my skill and Mink's charisma. It's _you_ I'm worried about, always making so many enemies and living the way you do." He put a hand to the side of her face. "Out here again, back to those dark days like the Great War, all we have is this bloody little campsite. You can't alienate yourself forever and you can't tell me you're damaged beyond repair. I've seen you've been happier lately. Someone worked their way into your heart and there's a touch of my little sister's kindness in your face again."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. She stared at the buttons on his chest and thought it was funny Van should have had such an effect. Marse's token gift burned around her wrist, memories of days and emotions she was so sure would never have again. Lazy afternoons in Van's company had somehow overturned the frozen ground inside of her heart, breaking up the permafrost.

"I'm afraid this war will kill that little green sprig in you Darjah. Don't let it. Don't die here in these terrible times, little sister."

"Fey, you have to stop worrying about me. Whether I am as warm as Mink or a scaly dragon I will be your little sister. Let them say what they will. I can defend myself and my skills will more than talk for me. As to my heart I'm a young woman yet. The soils are difficult but I'm sure the right herbs won't have any trouble growing. You've got your own children to father."

To strengthen her reply Darjah gave him a rough punch to one arm. The soft speech made her feel vulnerable. Pulling her defenses back around her she gave him her familiar grim smile.

"Besides, Death will be more than happy to sit at my table for many years to come," she added by way of regaining her balance. "And I'll teach your children disgusting anatomy facts and later deliver their children too. My reputation could hardly affect those happy moments."

"If they could it might be better for their young psychologies," Feyhaln sighed as he patted her shoulder. "If you've time you should join our fire tonight. I don't like so many strange men around you."

"One minute you want me married the next you want me as far from men as you can keep me. Don't you trust me?" she teased.

"I trust you to find trouble," he replied. Darjah nodded agreement to his point and suddenly found Allen to one side of them.

"Your ill humor has made you no friends but I think your position is guaranteed," he sighed to her and looked tired. Darjah patted her coat pockets and realized her satchel was back with her horse.

"Well thank you all the same for attempting to salvage what you could of my pride," she assured him. Allen seemed surprised by the words. "And I've got something that will help those dark circles under your eyes. I'd prescribe sleep but you'd only give me your false smile and go on not sleeping. I'll bring it when I come to see Feyhaln tonight."

"You're welcome, and thank you," he answered, unable to make a quip in return.

"Mink said the two of you got along terribly. I could see you starting a fight Darjah but I thought the Commander would be more gallant. I'll have to ask what she meant," Feyhaln looked between them suspiciously.

"Knights don't make friends with dragons," Darjah assured him. "Gentlemen, I'm to my duties. I've a lot to live up to with two Knights of Caelie supporting me."


	11. A Damsel in Distress

Chapter 11: A Damsel in Distress

Millerna glanced around her, uncertain how she was supposed to pitch the tent Huron had thrust into her hands. She glanced at the heavy pack she'd plopped at her feet and surveyed her colleagues nervously. They were already pulling them apart like they'd been doing it all their lives. Well, probably as peasants they had. She clenched and unclenched her fingers figuring it couldn't be that hard if these waifs had learned how. Squatting down she began fumbling with the knots keeping hers together.

"Wilks!" Huron barked. Millerna looked up at the sound of Feyhaln's name. "Wilks! Take this up to the Knights! It's a roster of us and our capabilities like your blonde friend asked for." She spotted her red headed friend standing with his customary braid tucked under a stiff, out of date foot soldier's coat. It was a piece from the last great war she realized and wondered why he wouldn't be in the finer coat of his updated rank.

Without turning around Feyhaln nodded and began with brisk paces towards the officer's tents. Millerna hesitated a fraction of a second and decided she had better make an ally now or never. She and Feyhaln were on good terms in spite of his wife Mink. Besides, to keep this ruse going she would have to learn a few things about the commoners and who better to teach her than Feyhaln, born and raised in the Hydra.

Jogging after him until they were fifteen paces apart Millerna then followed at this distance, keeping her eyes down and walking briskly. The roughness of her peasant's garb scratched on her skin and the shoes hadn't yet been properly broken in. She was cold too despite the thick scarf and her mittens. She should have at least brought some royal undergarments but then again her cover could so easily be blown. The more she blended in the harder it would be for Allen to recognize her from a distance. And the only way she wanted Allen to recognize her was if he was injured and needed tending.

"Knight Wilks!" Millerna called when they were just outside the officer's tent. She darted forward and grabbed the back of his sleeve. He turned and looked down at her. His old soldier's coat and the wear of his pants and boots were entirely different from his usually pristine Knight's uniform. His face too in the shadows seemed too angular. "It's me!" she whispered, leaning close on her tip toes. "_Millerna_." She stressed with a hiss.

"As in the princess?" a woman asked. Millerna looked around alarmed. "You must have me confused for my brother Feyhaln. I'm Darjah, his sister," she explained and folded her hands behind her. "What would you be doing stealing into the army? You're of much more use in your father's courts trying to persuade him to stop all this useless killing."

"What would a serf know?" Millerna sniffed, her horror at revealing herself quickly replaced by anger at this presumptuous commoner. "You're not to tell a soul about my identity. I order it," Millerna commanded and Darjah chuckled.

"I'll do as I like," she tipped an imaginary hat and swung around.

"I'll have you thrown into the dungeons! My father will listen to me if I tell him to do so!" Millerna pulled her back around. "I mean it! I command you not to say a word!"

"As a healer my duty is to preserve life, and my prescription for you is to return home," Darjah replied in a no nonsense tone.

"You must obey me! I outrank you!" Millerna insisted.

"You'll find your rank and charms a waste on me, princess. Now if you'll excuse me I've real work to do while you play pretend." Darjah gave her a mock salute and Millerna's body reacted before she could think.

"How dare you!" she snapped after the crisp smack of her hand across Darjah's face. "You've no idea of my capabilities or my reasons for doing this! How dare you presume to know what's best for me?" Darjah seemed to consider her a moment as Millerna panted after her outburst. Nodding to herself once Darjah took Millerna by her elbow and dragged her over towards one of the campfires where a handful of men were sitting around a pot. She yanked a wooden spatula from one of the soldiers there, propped her foot on someone's saddle, tossed Millerna over her knee, and began wailing on her backside.

Millerna cried out and struggled, begging the men around her for help. Instead they all laughed. Half of them were beast men, the other half looked to be the lowest, filthiest members of society. Despite her squirming the spatula slammed against her rump a total of fifteen times.

"There gentlemen, some rare seasoning," Darjah sighed as she passed the spatula back to a wolf man.

"Thank you kindly Miss Wilks," the wolf man grinned crookedly.

"What's her offense?" demanded an otter man, his whiskers trembling with the leftovers of his amusement.

"Recklessness," Darjah answered as she pulled Millerna back upright by the scruff of her neck. Ashamed of the tears of frustration and surprised pain on her face Millerna tried to turn away. "Look here at these men, healer. They are your responsibility as much as the men up at the commander's tent, as much as the children playing in their own muck in the Hydra. As a healer, you are _their_ servant regardless of rank or origins. Is that understood?"

Millerna lifted her chin and looked away from Darjah. She refused to acknowledge the peasant who had treated her so cruelly and burned with the resolve that she would be punished accordingly when word got back to her father.

"Miss, you should take Miss Wilk's words to heart," the otter man offered soothingly. "In the war ahead it won't make much difference what your rank. An arrow's as like to kill a king as it is a waif. The more you see die, the more you feel the weight of responsibility for their blood whether the fault was yours or not."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," Millerna sniffled softly.

"A lecture is about as much as you'll get," Darjah replied and slung her over her shoulders like a slaughtered ewe. "Masa, tell the Mrs. that after the war I'll expect a payment in gingerbread cookies. Even Vionella can't top her gingerbread," she nodded to the otter man who laughed.

"Bye bye baby," the wolf waved to Millerna who turned her face into Darjah's coat. The jig was up now and all she could do was wait to be humiliated as Feyhaln's sister carried her to meet her fate.

"I just wanted to keep him safe," Millerna snuffled. "I just wanted to protect Allen. I can't do that from court." Darjah made no reply as they walked through camp and the blood began to build in Millerna's temples.

"You really are a dragon," Allen sighed and made Millerna jump. "Kidnapping maidens now?" She tensed, waiting for Darjah to spill the beans.

"I'm actually in the business of saving damsels from the likes of our bawdry knights." Darjah snorted and jostled Millerna so she could extract the list Huron had given her. "Our roster and capabilities alphabetically. Huron's put us to our paces so there's no boasting. Ah, and this for those bags under your eyes. All of Palas would mourn those skeletal hollows. A pinch in your morning drink and you'll be set, never before bed unless you plan not to sleep at all."

"I'm at a loss for such kindness. Are you under orders from mother Mink, _pumpkin_?" he added derisively, his tone one that Millerna had never heard before.

"Keeping you alive and working benefits me in your ability to watch Feyhaln's back. You keep an eye on him there, I put him back together here, and everyone goes home happy."

"Speaking of Knight Wilks he's been looking for you. Will you and your damsel be staying? I can't imagine that's comfortable for her."

"This one's never pitched a tent before. I have a feeling I'll be callusing her palms for her and I'd better get to it while she's still fresh with city softness for her body to feed on." Darjah thumped Millerna's back so that it echoed and made the princess cough. "I'll need a better excuse for Feyhaln. He'll never believe I'm keeping out of trouble so tell him I'm in a heated embrace with the General and we're not to be interrupted. He won't check until tomorrow's march to see if it's true."

"Have you ever considered avoiding trouble?" Allen sounded like he was crossing his arms. "I'm beginning to see why he's so responsible."

"Then I've done you a good turn by forcing my brother to grow into a good man Schezar. Oh yes, mail," she extended a thick parchment letter.

"We've only been gone one day," Allen laughed.

"Sometimes I'm concerned I'm the one that married Mink, my brother just seeds her. 'I want a letter from you every day telling me of your chores and how many lives you save, whether Fey is shaving properly and how many lovers you take.'" Darjah mimed in a high voice that sounded nothing like Mink's pleasant alto. "Otherwise I've finished with you Knight. I'll be taking my damsel and leaving."

"Goodnight Miss Wilks," Allen seemed to chuckle as Darjah carried Millerna away. The princess waited an agonizing minute until she was certain they were away from Allen's ears and then she squirmed.

"Why didn't you turn me in?" she demanded as Darjah adjusted her for better carrying.

"I can certainly understand wanting to protect someone," Darjah replied. "You must have some training for Huron to not have booted you out."

"I've studied in the collegiums for eight years now," Millerna answered her before she was unceremoniously dumped onto her own two feet. "So you're not going to tell anyone?"

"Make a fuss and I will humiliate you," Darjah promised as she squatted before the partially unrolled tent. The other healers had already pitched their tents and were settled down for a solid night's rest. "I'll teach you how to pitch a tent now, so pay attention."

Millerna hunkered down beside Darjah and watched her begin to sort through the canvas and ropes. With a quick supplementary lesson in knots Millerna found a fine tent set up by mostly her own hand. She touched the military issued canvas and marveled at the small construction. Apart from a few sheets pulled over her bedroom chairs as a child she'd never built anything before. Darjah tested one of the knots critically.

"It'll do for now," she praised sparingly.

"Who did you join the army to protect?" Millerna asked as Darjah fussed over a slight sag in the construction.

"Feyhaln," Darjah shrugged. "And Matthew too, and anybody else I can manage to save in this blood fest. And you're going to help me do that, girly," she added with a jab of her finger. "Starting tomorrow you'll do as I tell you, beginning with salves. You'll be the one to maintain our basic inventory and craft as we run out."

"That's a job for a novice!" Millerna protested.

"If I like what I see, I'll promote you to some other job," Darjah replied dismissively.

"You just wanted a slave didn't you?" Millerna accused.

"You will find the world is full of such a convenient exchange of mutual trials," Darjah consoled flatly. "Get some sleep. You'll be up with me in maybe five hours," she glanced up at the sky still lit with the last vestiges of sunset. Her scalpel carved features seemed to Millerna as harsh as the impending bite of winter and as ominous as the threat of carnage ahead. And yet somehow this woman had induced a playful disregard in Allen's mannerisms that ignored rank and formality enviably.

"What is Allen to you?" Millerna burst suddenly when Darjah turned around towards her own militarily uniform tent. A growling laugh rumbled out of her chest as if she was more beast than woman. Her November tinted eyes were ethereal in the dark as they flashed back over her shoulder at Millerna.

"Be up two hours before dawn blue blood or I'll drag you from tent like a proper Hydra," she promised. And with an infuriatingly independent swagger Darjah left Millerna outside her slightly sagging tent. The blonde stood a moment considering her opponent and realized she was feeling unbearably threatened. Her fingers tightened in nervous anticipation and a sickening knot twisted her stomach inside out.

"So help me," Millerna vowed before darting into her tent and burrowing in determined to sleep her concern off. Her dedication lasted all of five minutes before a rock began digging into her hip, and the cold sidled into her bones, and the blanket began to itch against her cheeks, and she could feel her joints ache against the hard ground. She rolled over onto her other side and got out of the way of the lurking rocks, curling into a little ball. The longer the minutes stretched, the more depressed she became.

When a half hour had gone by she got back up and shambled out of her tent. Looking around the darkness and listening to the murmurs of her fellow soldiers she breathed out a heavy sigh of loneliness. For a moment she wished she could go back to the officers' tents and settle herself right next to Allen, or maybe she would settle for Feyhaln if she could get him to keep her secret.

Turning around she looked up through the sparse foliage still managing to cling to the trees and spotted the skeleton fingers of the trees reaching for a smattering of spectacular stars. Her eyes widened as a plume of her breath pushed a roiling gossamer veil over the silver smattered sea for the beat of a heart. Beyond the city lights she was swallowed in the darkness, one cold, miserable body alone rather than the glittering princess she had so comfortably become.

Her eyes drifted to the little fire where a few of the old veterans were cobbled together, the orange glow lighting their faces and drawing out the seams of age and weather. Darjah was sitting next to Huron with a tame smile, in her fingers. The old hands laughed at something Huron said as he gesticulated wildly and an ensuing flush illuminated his face. Millerna looked around at the rest of the dotted fires and felt infinitely alone. She crawled back into her tent, miserable and cold.

"Remember," she consoled herself pitiably. "This is all for Allen. Remember the goal,"


	12. Delicate Dragons

Chapter 12: Delicate Dragons

Allen sat perched on his horse to one side and watched the long procession of men trudge forward along the mud churned frost of the high road. Another two days of this and they would break away from common means of travel and cut across the plains that bled into Zaibach's wastes. Today however the Third Regiment with Vionella would be departing. At this point most of the 3rd were actually in their guimelifs, testing out their maneuverability and looking for any quirks before they hit the wastes.

The ground began to shake as the guimelifs drew closer to his present location. He could see them about half a mile back, the thirteen suits headed by Vionella. His was a magnificent piece commissioned by the General himself in memory of Vionella's skill and dedication. It gleamed an ethereal white with the great three headed dragon emblazoned across the chest in royal purple, something Vionella had done himself in honor of the Hydra troops accompanying them. It was a dazzling piece of work and Allen knew that the hand controlling it was as precise as the owner was peculiar.

The closer it came Allen was able to make out the figure standing on the shoulder, one hand keeping her steady. With her shoulders thrown back and her usual scowl in place Darjah looked every bit a terrible war goddess. In the outdated military coat handed down from her brother and perched as she was on the gleaming white of Vionella's guimelif, they very well could have been ghosts from the previous war.

Matthew and Darjah finally traversed the half mile and while the other guimelifs turned off to cut through the still wooded area beyond the road, Vionella stopped before Allen. He placed a hand over his heart and bent imperceptibly so that Darjah wouldn't slide off his shoulder.

"Knight Schezar," Vionella greeted him pleasantly.

"You'd better be careful Vionella, there seems to be a buzzard perched on your shoulder," Allen teased. Vionella chuckled as the chest piece slid up and the cockpit popped open.

Stepping out of his gear into the sunlight he still looked a mess, unshaven and wild haired. His uniform was rumpled and not properly buttoned as he held a hand up to ward off the sunlight.

"Come my beautiful buzzard," he summoned Darjah and extended his hand to her. In an expert movement she slipped down the shoulder, caught his elbow, and he took her by the waist to control her fall onto the opened chest piece beside him. "I'm certain I'll see you on the battlefields again soon," he smiled his charming, disconnected smile.

"I'll bring the party favors so just don't start without me," she instructed as they embraced.

Allen couldn't see Darjah's expression but Vionella had a look of peace. If he hadn't been watching closely he would have missed the minute shift and tightening of the guimelif prodigy's muscles and the flicker of longing that made his eyebrows pinch together for a fraction of a second.

"Look after your brother," Vionella advised here as they pulled apart.

"Look after yourself," she answered very softly, smoothing hair back from his face. She lingered a few seconds before scaling down the side of the guimelif to land in the mud. Vionella had already strapped back into the white armor and this time bowed much deeper.

"I leave the army in your hands, Darjah. Knight Schezar," he nodded to each of them in parting and turned with a flurry of his purple cape. The shuddering footfalls of the enormous guimelif resonated all the way through Allen's horse and trembled in his marrow. Darjah to his right stood with her arms crossed tightly and a pinched expression making her look concerned.

"He's an excellent soldier," Allen consoled softly.

"All the more danger they'll put him in," she answered flatly. Allen couldn't argue the point. Instead he offered her one gloved hand so he could take her back up at least as far as the healers rather than at the far trailing end of the march. She accepted without protest and swung up behind him, one arm looping around his waist.

"So I hear you've taken an apprentice," Allen said by way of a distraction as he directed the horse towards the front of the march.

"I only ever seem to find idiot salve makers," Darjah blew out an exasperated breath. Allen laughed.

"I think you like finding worthless salve makers," he accused playfully as they made their way along the muddy road. The horse's hooves made loud squish and pop noises as it labored forward. Chattering and laughing despite the cold and mud the soldiers filled in a pleasant background of heckling and boasting.

"What Dragon doesn't like damsels in distress? They're like veal - delicious and defenseless," she replied as her ill humor was properly restored. Allen preferred it to that lurking vulnerability that made him want to capitulate and treat her like a lady. In her proper mood she was decidedly not a lady and in some way that made him feel comfortable.

"Only a true Dragon would talk like that," Allen chuckled. "Speaking of damsels, a messenger came today." He reached into his coat and withdrew an envelope with Mink's seal on it. Feyhaln had been more than happy to pore over his letter four or five times already since breakfast. If Darjah was around more - and for some reason Allen had expected to see her at their campfire much more often - he would have already provided her with this precious link home.

Darjah snatched the envelope with something akin to eagerness and released his middle long enough to open it. Her fingers settled back at his side in a moment as he could feel her attention leave him to dissect the letter.

"Commander!" Gaddes' voice took his attention from the rustle of pages and the pull of his hair caught between them as they picked their way down the road. "Commander! Orders from the General!" His dark haired, scruffy second came at a full tilt gallop towards them. Chunks of mud were torn asunder in his wake and he looked ruffled, which meant something unusual had happened.

"They must disagree with you," Allen observed as Gaddes managed to rein to an abrupt stop, salute, and fish a map out of his saddle bags all at once.

"The scouts came back with the location of what they believe is a den of brigands," Gaddes practically growled as he snapped open a map and searched it.

"They want our unit to go in to clear them out and establish a base. Intel says it's only about 30 brigands."

"Our unit huh," Allen sighed as Gaddes found the location and stabbed at it with an irritable finger. "I'm sure he felt it would be a perfect opportunity to showcase our exemplary discipline and teamwork."

"He said something along the same lines," Gaddes snorted.

"What precisely did you do to the general to win such favor?" Darjah sighed as she leaned around him to take a look.

"Laying siege to the fort will be the most difficult," Allen ignored her. It was only about a day's ride from the present location. If they moved fast they could be there by nightfall and strike in cover of darkness.

"Sorry, I didn't see you Red," Gaddes bobbed his head in an unusually familiar acknowledgement. Allen noted this with a mix of surprise and wry amusement but did not question it. Meanwhile Gaddes' eyes in turn flicked between Allen and Darjah suspiciously but he said nothing. "We can easily make it by tonight but it chaps my hide we're the ones they pick. This just means we'll be the advance force at the forefront the entirety of this war."

"Gather the others and have them pull aside from the main army. I'll be there shortly," Allen instructed as his cobalt stare sharpened with his own machinations.

"Sir, Red," Gaddes saluted again and turned his horse in an abrupt about face. It snorted before hop stepping indignantly into a canter and leaning into a full gallop.

"Are you taking the Schezardes?" Darjah asked behind him as she craned around him to look at the map too. He lifted it so she could see more easily.

"No. It'll be too easy to spot and they want a base, not rubble. We'll have to move quickly and silently."

"What's the point of taking the thing if you're not going to use it?" Darjah snorted and he wondered if he detected a trace of concern in her voice.

"I'll leave that for a more difficult battle. Brigands, even thirty of them, won't give us much trouble," Allen promised. "Particularly since we can blindside them. My unit and I are well versed in assaulting 'superior' forces."

"Take me to Huron," Darjah seemed to scoff as she took the map away from him to fold it herself. Allen merely lifted his eyebrows at the bite in her tone. They stepped up into a canter, making short work of the muddy stretch. When they were coming up alongside the senior healer Darjah performed an impressive dismount before Allen had even reined to a halt. She slid onto the ground, jogged with the momentum, and alerted Huron to her presence with a hand on his leg.

"Wilks," he greeted with his rough voice. "Saw Vionella off did you?"

"I did," she nodded. "Knight Schezar and his men have been assigned to take a small brigand fort alone by our good general."

"How far?"

"A day's ride, main army should be there in about three."

"Three days...this close to Zaibach I'm not keen on letting my second go," Huron rubbed his chin as his eyes squinted towards the head of the army. "You're set on yourself as the assigned healer?"

"You have good healers but how many of them are combat trained?" Darjah cajoled as Allen's eyebrows rose in further surprise.

"What of your apprentice? She's barely learned how to walk."

"Unfortunately this is not something I can take her along for. May I leave her in your hands?" Darjah asked. Huron grumbled something as Darjah kept up at the side of his horse.

"You were the one who insisted she stay," he growled.

"A good dragon bite and here transformation will be complete," Darjah replied as her eyes flicked back towards the veteran healer. "I'll administer it upon our return to the main body of the army. Besides, she's classically trained if inexperienced. Keep her up to all hours salve making and she'll have no time to hiss and spit her blue veined complaints."

"I'll remind her the name of her benefactor," Huron assured her. Darjah nodded once and slipped past him, vanishing amidst all the other horses. In a moment she reappeared cutting across the steady current of marching horses until she was able to rejoin him. In her sharp blue coat with a shock of red hair over her gray eyes she cut a striking figure with her good posture. She had a better seat than most of the palace blue bloods vying for his attentions.

"Come to keep an eye on us?" Allen prompted as they urged their horses up further in the line.

"If the opportunity should arise I'll be happy to claim your crow picked bones as my prize, Knight," she replied. Allen smiled.

"Not bold enough to claim them for yourself then?" he jibed.

"Sally has a taste for blue veined marrow. She just hasn't decided whether I'm to feed her your arm or your leg, and a dragon must never forget her friends."

"You may yet have to bring Sally to tea. She sounds like charming company," Allen laughed openly. Darjah patted her saddlebags in something between a threat and good humor.

The rest of Allen's men were waiting for them with Gaddes moving between them, inspecting saddles and barking orders between the rowdy group of ragtag soldiers. As always their ability to conform to standardized uniforms was lacking and the diversity of their colorful backgrounds had always led to skepticism in the higher ranks. Of course the moment they laid eyes on him they snapped to attention.

"Well gentlemen, I assume Gaddes informed you of our present objective?" Allen inquired politely of his rough crew.

"The usual sticking of our necks out for the upper crust?" quipped Kio, his ruddy nose twitching in a disdainful sniff as he towered above his fellows.

"Our precise task is the liberation of a particular fort from around thirty brigands. Additionally I'm sure you all recognize Miss Darjah Wilks. She has volunteered to accompany us and to tend to any wounds acquired in the line of duty."

"Only the ones acquired in the line of duty? 'Cuz I've got a few scratches some magic kisses would do away with," cajoled Riden with a coy smile.

"You mean that sweet last kiss I give the damned before a mercy killing?" Darjah prompted. "I judged you healthier but who am I to argue with a man's sense of mortality?" For emphasis she extracted the small killing knife and turned it in the chill morning air so the light gleamed cruelly off its edge.

"I imagine I'll pull through," Riden laughed, ruffling the curls of his hair and busying his slight, energetic and expressive form immediately with his saddlebags. Allen couldn't help but shoot a crooked smile her way as the men mounted up. For her part Darjah merely put away her knife and adjusted the gray scarf so much darker than her cutting eyes, awaiting patiently the orders to move out.

"When the fighting starts we'll have to hide you with the horses," Allen told her as a more serious thought of her mortality came to mind. She was tough as nails and capable of thriving in the Hydra but that didn't mean she was capable of fighting brigands.

"We'll have to see. I assume a smart man like you might come up with something better than simply storming the gates, depending on the situation," Darjah shrugged. "A demure looking decoy might come in useful."

"My dear Dragon, I cannot in all my extensive experience with women picture you as demure under any circumstances," Allen chuckled.

"Better for your personal well being then," Darjah nodded.

"So Red, you're certain you can stomach riding with us?" Gaddes asked as he pulled away from the other horses. "I know you're the Hydra Queen but we're a different kind of ugly," he teased with a good natured smile.

"I'd be more concerned for your wellbeing than mine Gaddes. I've the decided advantage of being considered 'delicate' at first glance."

"Delicate?" Gaddes snorted. "Mangy Red the Huntress has never been delicate to me."

"You've always been admirably savvy Slim," Darjah graced him with a smile that actually sparked a flicker of familiarity and friendliness.

"Thorny old crone, don't talk to me like some wise old woman," Gaddes laughed.

"Dare I call you friends, Miss Wilks?" Allen had to ask over the din of men swinging into saddles and doing last minute checks, gloating and challenging each other in anticipation of the work ahead.

"My first job in Palas was guarding a fat old merchant's goods when they went to sell grains and cloth in the Hydra. Red here was the ringleader in most of the urchin raids that befell the overpriced buffoons back during the shortages about ten years ago. She gave me the runaround for some sixteen months before prices came down with a better harvest the ensuing year and I quit for other, more colorful means of employ."

"Somehow it doesn't surprise me," Allen remarked.

"I bet you still run like a girl," Darjah goaded.

"And I bet you still run like a beast," Gaddes launched back. A slight twinge touched Allen as the pair of them fell to posturing. There was something that struck him about their closeness, the way Gaddes could talk to her so familiarly and the softening of her eyes towards an old friend. The rarity of her smile seemed to shower down on Gaddes in a way that not even Feyhaln merited. It was different than her smile at Van, the elicit glimpse he'd caught. This was friendlier, more conspiratorial, almost childish as it harkened back to times long gone.

To assuage the bizarre feeling of being left out Allen took his place at the head of his troops, small a team as they were, and led them past the rest of the army. They bolted out ahead and veered into the woods making good time with their light baggage and the expertise of their riders. Eating in the saddle and breaking only twice to give the horses time to drink and catch their wind they made good time, leaving the trees in late afternoon as they approached the windy, blistering cold of the open wastes in late fall.

By dusk they had spotted the small fort on the horizon, a ghastly remnant of Dornkirk's era of technological supremacy. As it was now though it stood a shabby, ramshackle excuse of a building. Allen surveyed it and saw numerous openings ripe for the storming but considered his options. That many openings meant a number of men could escape or return with reinforcements.

Out a ways to the right he saw a small cart trundling towards the fort. It was barely a speck and if they rushed to take it they could overcome it long before it was particularly visible to the fort.

"Miss Wilks," Allen asked and she appeared beside him, following his line of vision.

"Certainly," she nodded in tune with his thoughts.

"Gentlemen, we have a cart to catch," Allen instructed.


End file.
